Circle of Grief
by atrish1
Summary: After being kidnapped by Sonora Latrielle, Hutch, under Starsky's watchful eye, tries to put his life back together. The danger Starsky is fearful of, waits just around the corner for both men. A h/c Hutch fic.
1. Chapter 1

_Time to post and well, I forgot about the fact I need to say something to lead in to this story._

_**-o-** Over a year writing and re-working this fic. And well, I could go on an on—make a long statement about what I was attempting to do with this story and try and make it poetic and insightful…But I realized I just wanted to say, I put a lot of work into this sequel to Sonora. That I think people are complicated, that our past can chase after us into our present & our future. And most importantly that I couldn't have done this without the love, care and support of people who gave me their time, and their listening ears, and their talents to make this story happen. I'm forever indebted and grateful to this lovely bunch of friends who have helped me produce this thing. **-o-**_

_Robbin Laffoon, the master of content & detail, my first S&H buddy, for always challenging me, who read, researched, and weighed every word in an effort to keep me honest—that's dedication & love, y'all. Thanks for hanging in there and for all the hours you gave me. Now write something, will ya!_

_The beautifully-minded, Sarah, my English lass, who has been an amazing find as a 'beta" and friend and so darn smart and invested. And who lets me run with scissors in my hands!!_

_Friend & writer extraordinare, Wuemsel, wide-eyed and full of whimsy, for all the fun we have analyzing the heck outta everything—making me think some deep s...,_

_Sweet Karen, who knows how to bring all the joy and sorrow to the surface in word or vid, for helping me to smooth out the edges and for always supporting me, thanks friend._

_Kate (CMT) –for helping me grow and for giving birth to such an amazing bunch of S&H fanfic for me to re-read over and over again--miss you here. Hope you're having a blast._

__

And thanks to great writer Debbie, whose discipline I do envy, and who, to the misfortune of S&H fic fans, has picked up stakes and moved onto new adventures in a another fandom somewhere out there…

_I guess there could be a 3__rd__ story at some point. We'll see._

_Disclaimer:__ I think I got this—I don't own Hutch, (sigh) or Starsky, not even Dobey, or Huggy, or Rosie or Edith…well… just… I get it._

_I can say though, I do own – the spoiled and pathetically messed up Sonora, and Monster(dear Frank), and August, and that mad scientist guy._

_While most of this 150+ pager is written, I'm still tinkering with it. Hope you'll stay with me._

_One final note; please excuse any content issues between this story and Sonora. There may be few minor glitches._

_On to the story..._

_**The point**__-- Grief can impact our lives and the lives of those we interact with—causing them – Grief._

_A vicious circle._

**-osOOso-**

**Circle of Grief: **

_Sonora's Return_

Starsky ran up the steps and opening the front door with a sweeping arm gesture and a bow, directed Hutch inside. "Home sweet home, buddy."

"You dummy," Hutch said, giving his partner a big smile as he entered the Venice Place apartment — _his_ apartment.

Once inside the bungalow, the grin on the taller man's face gradually faded as he turned to survey the living room. He slow-walked his way through it, peeking into the bedroom, greenhouse, and bathroom.

"_So?_" The dark-haired man tried to hide his impatience. He'd enlisted a small army to help maintain Hutch's apartment while his friend had been missing and was eager to see his partner's reaction to the place that had been his home.

Hutch's gaze settled on his shoes and he shook his head.

They had both hoped Hutch would remember it. When his slight head movement confirmed the opposite, they stood in silent contemplation, minds racing over what the missing recollection said about Hutch's recovery.

The absence of memory of the Venice Place residence was immediately replaced with the presence of Sonora Latrielle. The woman gangster had tortured Hutch, then employed an experimental drug and brainwashing to orchestrate a wedding between them. In the process, she'd made him believe they were blissfully happy, cruelly stealing much of his past from him.

Both cops knew the other was thinking of her. How she had harmed them. What she had taken.

Starsky roughly cleared his throat. He reached down to drag in a duffel bag full of a hodgepodge of items from the log cabin they had just left three days before.

He gave Hutch a touch almost invisible to the naked eye as he moved by him to dump the bag in a corner. "Don't mean it's not your home. Hey-- this place ain't too hard to figure out." He waved a hand around. "Living room, dining room--great place for the parties you've had here. Umm, bedroom…" he pointed out to Hutch, "—course I only know so much about what went on in there."

The comment made Hutch's eyes twinkle. And he relaxed a little bit and replied, "Well, I guess it's a nice place all and all."

"Yeah—kitchen's a good size," Starsky continued.

Hutch moved toward the folk guitar resting against a living room wall. He looked the instrument up and down, hesitant to pick it up. A long finger traced some of the length of the instrument's neck. "Hmmm," he said in an almost imperceptible sigh.

"You're pretty good," Starsky told him. "Hafta admit though, I'm more partial to your singing."

Hutch shook his head as if he was halting any musical requests from his friend.

"Don't worry, pal. Not gonna ask for any serenades. Not on our first night back home, anyway."

They exchanged smiles and Hutch made a mental note. His partner had a way of imparting wisdom while masking it in silly comic delivery. If he had forgotten that, he didn't want to forget it ever again.

The point Starsky was making—Sure, there were going to be some problems. They knew that. But they'd make it all work. Recovering lost memories really was a 'one day at a time' thing. The unvarnished truth being, even if Hutch couldn't feel it—he was home.

He wandered out into the greenhouse. "So, I guess I like plants, huh?"

Starsky did some fast stepping into the sun-filled space. "Yeah. Ahh-- you're a real hortacolorist…"

"A_ what?"_ Hutch said. Then smiling as he corrected him, "Starsky—you mean--_ horticulturist?" _

The mirthful banter between them made the taller man feel good. Some things were exactly as they always had been. Him and his partner—playing word games. Just one of the constants that made Hutch feel like he was at home. Home wasn't just about all the furniture, pictures, four walls—

"A_ who?"_ Starsky continued jovially.

"A—_H - O - R - T- I_ - cul- _tur_-ist. Horticulturist." Hutch hid his grin by looking down as he played his part in the exchange.

Starsky said, "A hore--- ahh--a hora …._Whatever! Y_ou got a green thumb—_two_ green thumbs."

That _did_ cause the smirk on Hutch's face to grow, and he raised his head, confronting his partner with his compliance in their game.

Recognizing the in-on-the-joke look, Starsky came to stand next to him, poking him playfully. "_Okay?_"

Starsky's question was more of a statement that everything was going to be just that -- OK. "Hey—you need another tour?" he asked.

"Nah," Hutch said. "I'm good."

"How'd you do it—keep my apartment? It must have been…rough. How'd you afford it?

"Well, Hutch, your landlord Peter's a real gem. He knew you loved it here."

Starsky explained how the owner of the restaurant downstairs was well aware how much his police officer tenant enjoyed living there and didn't have the heart to rent out the property—not under the circumstances. Hutch's landlord moved some numbers around in his books and figured he could go without. The man wanted Hutch to have a home to come back to.

"That was nice of 'im," Ken Hutchinson said. "Wish I could repay the favor and remember why I liked the place so much."

Later in the day Starsky gave a thorough tour of the greenhouse. Introducing each plant he could remember the name of and the instructions of care Hutch had given to him in the past, when Starsky had baby sat them during Hutch's extended trips out of town.

"How come you know all this?" Hutch had asked him

"Cuz, it's important to ya." Starsky answered without sounding the

least bit self-conscious. "See here, this little one, _Theresa_—she's your favorite--cuz she dried up over some long weekend you took. Man, you thought she was finished for sure—but you kept working on her…"

While he spoke, he gave Hutch a meaningful gaze-- one that acknowledged Starsky wasn't just talking about the plant. "She's a fighter, _ya know_? It wasn't that long before you was showing me some green leaf here and there—then later some little orange flower…"

Hutch grunted a humph. "Starsk-- so you waiting for me to grow some leaves. _That it, partner?"_

"No partner," Starsky laughed. Getting serious, he told Hutch, "Just want you to know, you got the green inside ya—that's all."

Hutch sighed. Smiling again, he relaxed a bit more as Starsky tipped water into the favored plant's pot.

**-osOOso-**

Edith hugged Hutch tightly. A small group of family and friends stood around them. Dobey watched the hug squeeze up tears of emotion into his detective's and everyone else's eyes. Taking charge of the situation before it turned into a crying fest, he wrestled his wife off the man who had been missed by so many. "Let him breathe, honey," he sweetly told her.

They all laughed out loud. Hutch made a ghost of a swipe at the tears threatening to slip down his face. Then there was Cal, who gave him an uncharacteristically-from-a-teenage-boy warm welcome and followed it with a similar ghost swipe of his own.

It was the little girl that Hutch couldn't remember. The attempt to dig through his damaged memory banks for who she was showed on his face and brought a hurt pout to hers.

'Daddy," she said, "he didn't 'member me." She buried her face in her father's pant leg and he picked her up.

"Now, ahh Rosie, didn't you say you were having a tea party today? Don't you want to put out your tea set?" Harold tried to distract his daughter from her hurt feelings.

Still looking dejected, the child's large eyes inspected Ken Hutchinson who dug hands into his pants pockets— looking guilty as charged.

Dobey placed her feet on the floor and the little girl in a flounce of plaid and lace -- a floppy rag doll under tow, peered once more at Hutch before she took off for the miniature play table out on the side patio.

The next half hour was abuzz with the arrival of cops, neighbors and friends attending the informal barbecue the Dobeys had put together for people to come and see the prodigal son up close. Everyone had strict instructions on how to approach the newly returned detective. No one was to ask Ken Hutchinson questions or make off-handed jokes about his memory…and Dobey had given orders to all police personnel to keep their comments regarding 'payback' and the Latrielle crime family to themselves.

Some folks Hutch remembered…some he didn't.

Mostly, Hutch was terribly preoccupied as people took turns approaching him before making their way out to the backyard party-- sharing the prayers they had made for his safe keeping. The very present ache in the blond detective's heart was for little Rosie Dobey. He kept watch over her as the little child tended to her garden tea party and the array of stuffed bears and dolls she contemplatively arranged in just the right petite chair.

Hutch wasn't the only one watching…the Dobeys and Starsky were well aware of the unfinished business between the old friends…The detective sergeant and seven year old girl, who was sad because she had been forgotten.

The mood of the celebration became more festive and the smoke from the busy grill bigger…. Someone turning the music up shifted the attention off the blond-haired officer. It was then that Hutch made his move.

He stood at the glass sliders for a minute listening and attentive to the girl playing hostess, chatting with her silent guests and pouring invisible liquid tea into the plastic china tea cups.

"_Got room for one more?"_ he asked.

She whirled around, blinking large browns of wonder at him, and nodded an invitation for him to join the party.

Hutch sat down on a metal storage chest just nearby, giving Rosie a warm smile. "Come here, sweetie," he beckoned to her.

There was only a moment of hesitation before she crawled up into his lap and threw an arm around his neck. "You didn't 'member me," she said sadly as she rested her head of thick curls on his shoulder.

Fully attentive to each other, neither would see the married couple cuddled in the kitchen watching the man who was like family attempt to smooth over the hurt feelings of their youngest child. And the blond cop and kid also wouldn't see the partner who cut off a conversation with someone-- claiming to need a beer while he tried to be inconspicuous as he viewed the heart-warming scene.

"I'm sorry I didn't remember you, honey," he told her. Hutch laid out a large hand and her tiny one slipped into it.

"Daddy said you got sick and had to go away to get better. _Are you better now?" _

"Yes. I am."

"_So why didn't you 'member me?"_ she asked again.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I can't answer your question. But I do know that you're much too special a little girl for any guy to forget."

"But you 'member'd Cal and mommy." Her pout returned.

Hutch sighed at her insight. "I can't explain why my being sick made me forget you. Baby, I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings for the whole world."

Hutch could tell she was thinking about what he said so he asked, "Do you think you can give me another chance? _Hmm?"_ He ducked his head some to look into her face. "What do you think –_can you forgive me?"_

Her beautiful large eyes widened to give him a deciding look over. Suddenly, as if coming to the solution to their problem, she sat up. Her long brown curls bounced. Animatedly clapping together her hands, she asked, "Do you still _want_ to be my friend?"

"Rosie, I want to be your friend –more than anything," he assured. "You're the cutest thing, you know that?"

She giggled and hugged him.

The married couple and partner nearby, confident their loved ones were in good hands, returned to entertaining the house full of company.

"Ooh no!" Rosie announced as she wiggled out of his arms, "I forgot. Tea's ready."

"Well we better have some, huh?" Hutch agreed.

Her eyes twinkled back her amusement of his playing along. She raised a palm and tiptoed to whisper in his ear, "The cookies _are real_. Don't tell mommy, _okay?_"

He winked at her. "It's our secret," he promised.

(**tbc)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Circle of Grief- CHAPTER 2**

"It's like...if you had two different puzzles...and you dump the pieces out…all in one big pile. And then you try to put together the pictures they'd make. You pick up a piece and you're not sure the image it's gonna make. You never know if you've found the part that fits... I don't know if that makes sense," Hutch shared.

The company shrink said it made a lot of sense. Hutch also told the doctor he was angry over what had happened to him. That he wanted to move on. He knew it would take a while to sift through the memories of two separate lives... _but_ when he had done so, he'd have the whole picture of who he was again.

Insightful...the doctor concluded.

After a month of talking, the psychiatrist admitted that he really didn't know how to handle Ken Hutchinson. He felt the blond detective was in a rather healthy state of mind – for a man who had been kidnapped and brainwashed. It was an unusual case and he had talked to several other doctors in the field. All of them agreed, a wait-and-see how it goes approach was the best way to handle the situation. The psychiatrist prescribed a highly narcotic medicine to abate the extreme cluster headaches that still popped up from time to time. Hutch agreed to check in regularly and the doctor signed his permission for Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson to return to work - for limited duty.

**-osOOso-**

As fate oftentimes knows how to make the best out of the worst, a special project was dumped into Captain Harold Dobey's lap. 'Operation Clean House' was what most of the other captains were jokingly calling it. Harold thought the tag was pretty funny—but he also was a man who believed in divine timing. When he had read the memo from the commissioner and its instructions to select six of his detectives to participate--Dobey knew exactly which six officers under his supervision would be assigned to the operation. One of the teams would include two of his best detectives.

The assignment was a perfect match for them-- especially with Hutchinson returning to work the next week on restricted duty.

Election years always put a spotlight on crime stats. Bay City's opposing local politicians had been battling back and forth over the police department, and whether, if under the present administration, the law enforcement organization was as effective in solving the murder, assault and robbery cases of an over-populated metropolis as it should be.

Of course the current mayor touted the department's success rate as the best ever while his opponent decried the complete lack of competence of the city's police to be the reason why much needed federal funds would not be allocated. This, of course, was all fodder for the local papers. The mayor had demanded that in the six months before its citizenry hit the polls that there would be no question in their minds about how he had single-handedly championed the Bay City Police Department into its best four years on record.

There were a lot of different things being done internally to improve or 'work' the numbers.

The part of the operation Dobey's detectives would be taking on was the review of the glut of unsolved murder, assault, and other serious unresolved cases that filled several three-tiered metal file cabinets in the records room on the 1st floor of Metro.

Each team of partners would be doled out an equal amount of the near 1,500 folders for follow-up interviews with the crime victim's families, witnesses, co-workers and such. As far as Captain Dobey was concerned—revisiting these forgotten crimes wasn't a waste of time and he also felt that there was a good possibility that some of the interviews just might result in solving a few of the age-old crimes. Other precincts throughout the whole county would also be running the same operation.

It all had to do with human nature, Harold decided. Sometimes, years later, people would remember something they had never told the police. Then there were the folks who didn't want to get involved at the time-- had spent years feeling guilty and were now ready to talk. Anything was possible.

**-osOOso-**

"Well?" Dobey could feel his eyes getting wet, so he discreetly rolled back his chair and headed for the water cooler in the corner of his office.

Hutch kept his eyes straight ahead and that was a good thing.

"Well, like I was saying," the captain picked up his speech. "You being back has made a lot of folks happy, Ken. Nobody's more tickled than Dave, though." Dobey walked around his office--fiddling with the few items he had in it.

Hutch sat forward, smiling up at his superior graciously. He knew Dobey's emotions had gotten caught up in the momentousness of him reporting back to work.

"Capt'n, I know--_a lot of folks_ are glad I'm back."

They exchanged a sideways glance, Dobey--realizing that Hutch correctly translated his '_lots of folks'_ to include him too—sat back down to face his detective.

"Ok, Ken, so how do you feel about working this assignment for a while?" Dobey asked. "You don't have to take a cut in pay—I mean it's full-time. It's just not the rough n' tumble stuff you two guys are used to. But it's honest police work."

Ken Hutchinson shrugged and looked down at the paperwork in his lap.

"What's amatter, son?" Dobey's paternal intuition was on high alert. He had expected Hutch to be happy about getting back to work. "What's wrong? Look—if yur panties are in a bunch cuz I'm not letting you and your partn'r go off and do whatever you please…"

Hutch had to grin at the scolding his captain was trying to inflict on him.

"No -- no. That's not it…" he fumbled and then paused to offer up another smile to show his affection for the older man.

Dobey sighed, "Damn!" He burst out laughing at his own awkward handling of the initial meeting. "It's good to have you back, son!" he exclaimed.

"Thank you--thank you, sir," Hutch said softly.

"Alright, then—let's get down to business. What's the problem, Hutchinson?"

"I don't know…if I should even…be here."

"_C'mon_…" Dobey insisted.

"I can't do this." Hutch, his mood turned somber, sat up in the chair. "I can't be a cop**.** I don't know if I remember everything I'm supposed to know. What if…I mean…I'm supposed to have Starsky's back out there…"

"Look-- young man," Dobey blustered. "To hell with that kinda talk!" He leaned over the desk --putting a meaty finger in Hutch's face. Dobey ran down the facts as he knew them. All the time he was gone, Dobey told Hutch—Starsky never gave up on him. Hutch's partner had fought hard to get him home and the best way to pay that kind of friendship back was not to give up on himself. Everybody loved him too much. So he was gonna have to stick it out because –if there was enough love to bring him back home-- there sure was enough to help the detective get through this rough patch. Furthermore, Dobey said—the know-hows of being a cop ran through Hutch's blood. It's pure natural talent. All the stuff in the book isn't what made him a cop. "It's what you got in here," he finished—laying his finger over Hutch's heart.

Hutch, getting the message, gently nodded.

"…like I said—you got time. Do your homework—but don't overdo it. I'll be the one to decide if you're not pullin' your weight around here," Dobey assured him.** "**_Now_-- I've got some other things to tend to so--" he thumbed Hutch toward the door.

Stunned at the abrupt end of the pep talk but nonetheless obedient, Hutch jumped to his feet and headed for the exit. He turned to say something andDobey growled. "Out!"

As soon as Hutch left Dobey's office he slipped into the chair at his desk and went to work. And each day after that, he did his job. The blond officer surrounded himself with textbooks, which he studied voraciously. Over and over again—refilling his head with police procedures and guidelines.

Some day he would have to be there for his partner and there was no cutting corners. When ever he could, he also reread files of cases he and Starsky had worked together. An attempt to familiarize himself with criminals they'd busted--potential enemies. A slow and tedious task, but Hutch knew it was an important one.

He was rebuilding his confidence daily--but when it came to his personal life…

That was another story…

**-osOso-**

_Freezing… freezing… freezing...cold...cold..._

"_Help c--c-cold…help'm…"_

"_If you tell me..._"

_"Cold."_

_"Tell me again," the little man said pushing up his glasses… always pushing up his glasses…_

_Hutch tried to swallow the dryness that had possessed his mouth and throat__...__"I can't—c- can't…pleass…"_

"_**Tell me**__," the man in the brown lab coat inquired angrily. "__**Where- did- you--meet?"**_

_Exhausted and hurting, Hutch shook his head, trying to fight the words the doctor wanted from him._ _He felt the icy chill intensify around him-- "No…" he declared weakly._

_The man sat back watching him, Hutch's teeth chattered uncontrollably and he closed his eyes__. __He had nothing. The man had everything he needed; Water, food, clothes and warmth. All he had to do was say the words. Only words. Just words…_

_"N-New O-rleans," he said, the words catching on his halting breath. "I... I met her there...N' Orleanss...please..."_

"Hey. Hey. Hey! _You here?_"

Hutch blinked back at him and smiled. "Ahh..." Was all he could manage.

"Man, you were somewhere else," Starsky noted.

Hutch shied away from his stare. Picking up a pen, he started scribbling on the paper in front of him. "Justa …just…uhmm."

Starsky didn't need a further explanation-- they both knew that. "Yeah," he frowned as he tried to think of what to say next. Starsky was well aware that Hutch had flashbacks. Even though his best friend didn't share the details of the experiences, conversations**—**good and bad…some horrific - that haunted him. The reason Starsky knew about them was because Jay had sat him down--back in that cabin in the woods and talked to him about what Dr. Whalen had said might happen when Hutch went home. Jay suggested strongly that Starsky leave it be. If and when Hutch wanted to share the recollections with Starsky was up to Hutch. The recovering man had to have the power to make the decision on his own without Starsky trying to maneuver his way through the tangled mess Hutch had going on in his head.

Such advice under normal circumstances he would have blatantly ignored. But. The time he and Hutch spent in the cabin together had been intimate and raw. Starsky recognized if he tried to get Hutch to share the memories both of them would stay in a constant state of exposed nerves.

A person couldn't live in that kind of rawness all the time…not if they wanted to be a tough, focused, and dedicated cop. It wouldn't have been fair to Hutch to keep picking at the wound they both knew was there.

So Starsky would squash his concern and curiosity about what specific angst was prickling under Hutch's skin. The guy certainly had a long list of recent life events to become distracted and somber over.

He did think about the fact that Hutch wasn't 100% yet—not 80, not 70. He was still way too thin and not…not…at ease with himself. And there were the headaches. Yet, despite it all, their bond seemed to be completely intact and whole. That realization made it very easy for Starsky to let things be. To give Hutch his space**…**and time to heal.

He was having trouble adjusting to the longer length of the blond mane Hutch was sporting – and he wasn't the only one. Dobey had pulled Starsky aside, urging him, "Get 'im to a barber this weekend. It makes him look kinda soft—don't you think? Dave-- pretty soon the guys around here are gonna be ribbing him. It's gonna get ugly. Everybody's thrilled he's back --but sooner or later the pranksters are gonna start in. I can only imagine the jokes they're gonna be playin'"

He told Dobey, "Hey, he ain't harming nobody. It's just hair, Cap'n. Can't 'cha just turn a blind eye to it for awhile? I doubt anybody's into playin' pranks this early, Hutch just getting back home. But if some joker tries sumpthin'…don't worry, I'll handle 'em."

Dobey had shrugged and trotted off mumbling under his breath. "You better. I've got enough bull to deal with around here." The captain added, leaving Starsky with his thoughts.

He did agree the hair was perhaps too long-- but definitely disagreed that it made his partner look soft. On the contrary—David Starsky thought that the long hair, Hutch's height, and the leather jackets he'd been wearing lately--along with the unsettled wariness buried deep in Hutch's features… gave him an edge. Like a real badass. Maybe the other cops thought that too—because no one seemed to be even trying to sneak in a wisecrack about Hutch's new look.

If Hutch did bulk up -- added a few tattoos, Starsky was sure his partner would look like some renegade biker let loose in the police department.

Right now though, he and his longhaired buddy had done enough for the day.

"Hutch, why don't we get outta here, huh? I'm beat and it ain't like any of these cases are gonna have any overnight developments." Starsky fanned a few folders in the air for added effect.

"Yeah, guess you're right." A tired-sounding Hutch was grateful for the end of the workday proclamation – Starsky could tell.

They both appreciated the current special project they'd been assigned to. It was real hardcore police work. At the same time, the chance they'd have to chase down a perp, or that there'd be gunplay was close to nil. But--they could still get into the Torino…hit the streets…investigate…play good cop and bad cop as they interrogated the uncooperative.

Not to mention...they clocked in their own hours. Which made life easier.

All and all, it was a decent assignment, but right now Starsky just wanted to get some food in Hutch and send him off to bed. And hope that he'd get a good night's rest and that maybe tomorrow would be the day when life would slip a bit more back into normal and there'd be a little less of that wariness in Hutch's face.

**-osOso-**

The waitress, who had been standing there for over five minutes, was tapping painted bright red nails on her order pad. Apparently wanting to make sure her annoyance was clear, she was glaring down at the man who'd been gawking at his menu like it was written in Mandarin Chinese.

Intervening, Starsky put his hand over Hutch's and gently lifted the menu from out of his friend's grip.

Starsky also gave the twenty something woman a flirtatious smile as he worked at smoothing over her impatience, "Ahh, he's just too embarrassed to tell you he forgot his glasses--_blind as a bat._ He'll have the linguini and clam sauce – white. And like I said, I'll have the lasagna and ahh--give us one of those big salads. House dressing. A basket of your fresh baked bread. House red—Ok_, scheew-heart?"_ He added a wink to his flirting.

The waitress giggled like an infatuated teen, and cooed back, "_Sure thing_--be right back with the salad."

Starsky watched her hips as she rewarded his attention with a sexy walk off. Then, switching off the manufactured charm, he squeezed support into Hutch's hand. "Don't worry 'bout it, huh. They had more writing on that thing than Dobey's grocery list."

"_Starsk_." Hutch had practically blushed at the attempt to make him feel better about his inability to pick out a dinner entrée.

"_Dobey's grocey list_…" he repeated and relaxed into a pitchy snicker, and  
Starsky, joining in, laughed out loud.

It felt good and Starsky didn't regret for a minute taking the cheap shot at

their Captain who wasn't around to defend himself. Not when the result had been seeing Hutch have some fun for a change. And well, it did seem Hutch got that the two of them did entertain themselves now and again by poking fun at their rotund superior. Even though both of them had the utmost respect for the man who was as much father as was boss to them.

But Starsky had to say he was disheartened at times by how much Hutch didn't recall.

What it came down to was most times Hutch couldn't remember what he liked and didn't like**--**and Starsky had become Hutch's personal guide to his own life.

Starsky was always there to steer him to the everyday choices that made him Ken Hutchinson, and Starsky's best friend and partner.

Explain to him who he was…when Hutch didn't know what to sayor how to act or make the choices that would align with his identity. Starsky would discreetly pull him aside and help him work through what was real and what was fabricated.

Some of the things Sonora had twisted up inside his partner made absolutely no sense to Starsky. Like Hutch had been a toy to her. Messing up something that was fine the way it was. Giving Starsky just another reason to hate her.

Starsky knew that Hutch, while often times confused, was in there. He just wasn't confident about trusting his instincts. Questioned if they were _his_ impulses or _her_ manipulations. It was painful for him to have Starsky make all the guiding gestures, but it was better, Hutch assured him, than doing _anything _that wasn't authentic to who he was.

_It was the only way to _keep _**her**_ o_ut of his life_, was how Hutch put it.

"Linguini clam, _white_…not red," Starsky clarified. "We usedta go to this place over on the Eastside Pier. The owner made it up special for you – real nice and a lotta garlic, spicy—but not too spicy for ya. That's your favorite. Sometimes fettuccini primavera, alfredo…"

Hutch's eyes squinted, like he had recalled something-- a hint of guilt surfaced and then he tried to play nonchalant as he pushed a fork around on the table. "Hmm, _alfredo, huh?"_

Starsky thought the confirmation sounded sad. "You okay?" he asked his friend.

There always seemed to be something these days that could strike a weird chord in his partner.

Hutch nodded, giving him a makeshift smile.

**-sOs-**

He certainly wouldn't share what he was thinking.

The night out with Sonora in that black dress with red flowers which clung to the curves of her body like nobody's business.

He had ordered fettuccini alfredo for a wife he thought wasn't happy with the entrée of veal saltimbocca she'd ordered for dinner.

Watching her, shyly use a big spoon and fork to maneuver through the pasta dish, trying not to spill cheese sauce on herself had been an endearing sight. She was awkward, beautiful and enchanting. It was the night Hutch had decided—it didn't matter what he didn't remember--he was sure he was in love with her.

What an idiot. Performing for her like a circus monkey.

All of it a cruel an evil game. One that had screwed up his life.

_She_ was the reason why he had spent the last few minutes dumbfounded over a handful of items on the small menu. Asking himself the question again and again – what do I like? It made him feel stupid. Made him look stupid, too.

**(tbc)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Circle of Grief: Chapter 3**

Hutch tossed his keys onto the kitchen table. He sighed out a breath as he turned to study the darkened corners of his apartment. How many times had he come home, opened his door and expected to find her standing in the middle of his living room?

The woman he'd once believed to be the love of his life, now the bane of his existence.

That other life he'd lived as her husband. Sonora Latrielle--on the run from criminal prosecution for kidnapping, attempted murder of a police officer, racketeering, money laundering, and more--was still a living, breathing presence in his life. And part of him was still the Ken Hutchinson that had loved her with his whole heart.

Hutch had to be very deliberate all the time. Consciously taking control of his thoughts, bringing them all back to Bay City, Venice Place, to being a detective and Starsky's partner.

Those were the things that defined him…not…not…

Money and castles, dining on gourmet meals in fancy restaurants, attending the glamorous balls, and traveling the world via private plane, and being the man of the estate--showing respect to servants and gardeners who catered to his every command. No longer the home-bound husband who watched the clock for her to come walking through the front door. Greeting his wife with a kiss and holding her…loving her…

_NO_--none of that factored in. If there was a way to measure the value to him of that strange world--it was a zero on any scale. That life was as dead to him as if it had never existed…

He wanted to banish the memories of Sonora and living like a king from his mind, heart and soul-- the whole existence, the love, the affection, the sense of belonging that she forced on to him.

But sometimes…at night or in the morning when he was cloudy he did reach for her. And it pissed him off royally—because Hutch hated Sonora Latrielle. Actually, there wasn't a word to clearly define how much he hated her. And Hutch didn't go looking for one. Because that meant he had to think about her. When the woman's face _or_ smile _or_ voice popped up in his head he would try to block her visitation.

There were times though--her spirit would seep into him. The scent of lavender and citrus. Then he'd see her upturned face and saw her lips…smiling. Eyes full of light and love.

Or Hutch would see that staff striking down on him, like a bolt of lightning from above. Feel its stinging impact across his back.

Of course he had the souvenir--the raised scars on his chest. He was glad for them, because whenever pleasant memories of her came, all Hutch had to do to chase them away was to brush his fingers over the three slashes she'd branded into his flesh.

Fighting Sonora Latrielle. That was how he lived now. And it made each day of his current existence a battle Starsky was there to help him and that was all he needed…all he needed to fight her…

Having his best friend by his side was how he was going to beat her.

**-osOso-**

Starsky dug into the grease-stained bag. The double cheeseburger done up Mexican-style had salsa, cheddar cheese, jalapenos, bacon, and fried onions on it. The captivating smell of the famed 'Mexicali' burger that Starsky had fantasized about for most of the morning permeated the inside of the Torino.

Hutch's lunch of green salad with tofu and a vegetable juice remained untouched.

The disappointment on the taller man's face was obvious. Starsky, in between bites, once again ran down the list of healthy food habits --protein drinks, vitamin taking and fasting that represented a large portion of his best friend's diet.

Starsky had explained it before only to find that Ken Hutchinson was none too pleased with the foods he had used to fuel his body. Today was no different. The blond cop just wasn't going along with the program.

Hutch shook his head sadly and picked at the greens in the styrofoam container. The move played on Starsky's heartstrings, making him feel so bad that he ended up giving the man sitting in the seat beside him the second burger that lay smashed at the bottom of the fast food bag.

Hutch's eyes grew wide with appreciation as he shoved his lunch aside. Happily reaching for the burger he thanked Starsky and proceeded chowing down the fat-filled treat.

Starsky remarked. "Yeah, but I'm tellin' you Hutch—_you don't have the stomach for this kinda stuff, buddy."_

"Hmm. Right, _right_," Hutch answered with a mouthful of cheeseburger and a smirk.

The dark-haired cop had always wanted his partner to come over to his side of the greasy spoon but he would have done anything to not have had it happen this way. Starsky wondered to himself how a daily diet of french fries, tacos, pizza and burgers stopped Hutch from being who he was—but it just did. Until Hutch came around to his old ways of eating Starsky would still all the rest. Stocking Hutch's kitchen full of the stuff and waiting for the day Hutch would remember how much he preferred it.

**-osOso-**

Sunglasses and the stutter.

Tell-tale signs that Hutch had one of his headaches. Without the glasses, squinting slivers of the reddening white and water settling around the rims hinted at his utter discomfort. But Starsky had learned not toharass his buddy with questions like —_Are you nauseous? Should I pull over? You want I should take you home?_

None of his doctors knew what triggered the pain-filled episodes they'd confirmed were cluster headaches. All the drugs Sonora's doctor had pumped into him were obviously the cause. The physicians concurred and prescribed a powerful medication that would work against the pain of one of the ferocious headaches—immediately incapacitating the blond-haired police detective. Taking him down for nearly 12 hours.

Hutch suffered from a range of degrees of pain; some days he had none at all. Regardless, being single-mindedly dedicated, he forced himself to stay focused on the job of being a good detective. Managing, although Starsky wasn't sure how, to appear completely professional to anybody who interacted with him.

The more severe headache, the clusters, Starsky could easily identify. His partner was unable to speak without difficulty. He would drag or stutter first a word here or there, but soon enough the blond-haired man would be stringing some fragmented nonsense words together.

Since they had been back home, the debilitating headaches had only happened on four occasions when they were on the job. On each of those particular mornings a pale looking Hutch had slid into the passenger seat wearing a pair of his darkest sunglasses. Starsky, recognizing there was a problem, simply drove around the city until Hutch made a desperate hand gesture for him to stop the car. At which point, Starsky worriedly waited while his partner regurgitated what was left in his stomach from the previous night's dinner. There was only so much mother henning a guy could do. Starsky would rush to Hutch's side in a second, rub his back, make untrue 'you'll feel better in a minute' promises-- but he knew Hutch didn't want him to.

Kenneth Hutchinson was as stubborn as they came. If the guy wanted to go on with life turned back on normal and had instructed Starsky to back off some--well then-- Starsky had to accommodate that request. It meant he had to grit his teeth a lot to fight the urge to be there to hedge off all of Hutch's misery.

Life had its duality was the way Hutch explained it. Made itclear to Starsky in more than one conversation--_He'd take the good with the bad_ and he would appreciate it if Starsky could see that the state of his life in the here and now was gonna have _its highs and its lows_. Hutch needed to find his own way to deal with all of it. The 3 a.m. nightmares accompanied by cold sweats, the ache in his head, the embarrassment of not remembering people… places…and things. Starsky, the blond man pointed out, couldn't protect him from all of it.

Even though respectful of Hutch's noble mindset, Starsky still kept somewhere on him, no matter where he went, a bottle of the medicine that guaranteed to bring near immediate relief for his friend. One morning the pain was so severe—Starsky could see his friend was in agony, but Hutch insanely battled against taking the cure for it. There was a short debate -which escalated into an argument between one guy making good sense and the other stuttering a string of nonsensical defenses for not taking the drug.

Starsky had to practically force Hutch to swallow them down. Worried out of his mind, as he waited for the pills to take his friend's pain down Starsky had called Dobey, who insisted on meeting him at Hutch's apartment and helping Starsky get his partner into bed. When Hutch woke up many hours later he didn't remember the headache or the argument about taking the pills—or Starsky practically having to sit on him to make him take them.

The conversation in the car on that one-for-the-record-books 100 plus degrees mornings, still fresh in Starsky's memory had gone something like this…

"Therrrs t-two…o-overrr there two ahh 'em," Hutch had stated in his best slur.

"What's that?" Starsky asked, perfectly aware that Hutch was on his way to some major head aching.

"Starsss—s-sshould haulll 'lem in."

"OK," Starsky answered with a sigh. The only people on the corner they were driving past were an old elderly couple and some children waiting for a bus. That was how Starsky knew the intensity of Hutch's headache was severe. He peered at Hutch with concern, reaching over to pat his friend's leg.

The air conditioning had been working inconsistent over the last few days. Which meant it was hot and steamy in the car but not enough to explain why Hutch was dusted with a full body sweat. Starsky cursed while he fiddled with the controls, keeping a side glance on his partner.

Hutch's body tipped forward and he raised a lazy hand to cover the sunlight from sneaking past the dark glasses he wore.

"Why, y-you'd you… keep k-keep d-d-drivin…" The hurting man followed the question with a hard swallow and Starsky could see the muscles around Hutch's sensitive eyes were bunching in an effort to shut out the light of day.

"Well, okay, Blintz guess there's no foolin' you. Just givin' you a minute, hmm? To get on the other side of that head ache you got goin on." Starsky lied. He had no intention of either of them walking into Metro on that day.

"I-n—nneeda…"

"Need what, part'nr?" Starsky kept an eye on the streets but his heart was wrapped up in his friend's suffering that was temporarily making him talk gibberish. "_You need_—to take something. I got your meds right here." Starsky told him as he slid a hand into his jacket to double-check for the prescription bottle.

"G-Got stuff on…stufffss on desk…t-t-to do."

"Those reports…ain't important right now. _Do you understand it's time for you to take something? _This is one of those bad ones, buddy."

"Y—ouu..." His head dipped and Hutch lifted it back up. He attempted to clear his throat like it would clear the fog from his head and announced, "That's your shirt there…"

Starsky rolled his eyes with sensitive disbelief at what his partner had said and steered the Torino off the street. "Be right back. Stay in the car. Hutch, _Hear me?_" he instructed, lightly touching his friend's shoulder before he jumped out of the car. Back to the vehicle in less then a few minutes, Starsky opened the passenger door and knelt on the hot sidewalk. He laid the bottle of milk he just purchased across the dashboard. Pulling out the prescription bottle from inside his jacket pocket, he gave Hutch a stern look over.

Of course at that moment clarity returned to the blond-haired man, and he mumbled in rebellion, "Not…taken thosss…we're workin'."

"No, buddy. No work for you today. Take my word for it. You're done for the day," Starsky said, as he worked off the prescription bottle's top and poured two pills onto his palm.

"St-St-Stupid…" Hutch sounded like he was attempting annoyance.

"OK, look--don't know if you're sayin' _that's_ stupid… _or_… if _I'm_ stupid. Either way, you're still goin' home."

"Th-thhhh ssssttt wrmmm..Nnnuuu lllleeeemmee..." Hutch slurred.

Starsky couldn't make out any of what his partner said but it sounded like a refusal to go along with the plan. "Take 'em," he replied as he leaned into the car. "Hutch, you need to listen to your partner right now or sumpthin' really bad is about to happen with that thing you're using to tell me off with," he added, gently laying a hand on Hutch's head.

A slow motion swat at his hand was Hutch's answer. "Leemme work on-nit."

"No. You're _not_ going to work." Starsky said in his best_ you're pissing me off buddy voice _and ordered Hutch again. "Take 'em." Then warming his tone he said to him, "You don't even know how much you're hurtin' right now. Trust me, huh?"

"D-d-dooon't neeeeed it." Hutch dragged out his rebuttal.

"You're starting to get under a nerve, Hutchinson. You want _me _to get a headache! That what you're goin' for. We've been through this before, Blondie—you get one of those clusters and you TAKE THE DAMN PILL! That's how it goes- _got it?"_

Hutch tried to move his body to get out of the car and Starsky curled a hand around the pills and firmly pushed him back. "Stop! Just stop, buddy. I'm not the enemy. You gotta listen to me now. Right now," he pleaded as he leaned in to get close to his suffering friend. Their foreheads just inches apart. Starsky said, "I ain't never gonna steer you wrong—you know that. I'm tired, man—and _it's hot_." He sighed with exhaustion, "Mostly pal—I can't stand seeing you hurt…_you know_? Will you take these things?—I promise you…there ain't no better choice to make. Trust me." He opened up his hand to show the medicine in it.

Hutch obediently slouched toward him and Starsky sat on the edge of the passenger seat wrapping an arm around him. The angle was definitely uncomfortable, but his plea was paying off as more of Hutch's weight pressed on to his side.

He lifted the pills and slipped them into Hutch's mouth. It was awkward to open the milk with an arm around his friend but he managed. "Swallow," Starsky instructed as he tipped the cool bottle for Hutch to drink.

Hutch slumped against him still muttering his objections but Starsky didn't care. He allowed himself a cleansing breath – realizing at the moment he wasn't afraid anymore. The doctors weren't quite clear of what could happen to Hutch if one of these explosive clusters weren't abated and Starsky didn't want to find out. That's why he always carried the drugs with him and repeatedly harassed Hutch to do the same. But when it came to taking medicine his partner just couldn't be trusted. Starsky was surprised that Hutch hadn't found some alternative natural twig, or root, or dried up leaf to treat the headaches. Well, maybe the old Hutch would have.

"Yeah. That's it, buddy," Starsky said softly to the man resting on him. He slipped off Hutch's sunglasses and pushed back the longer length blond hair off of his friend's face so he could see him. Hutch's eyes fluttered lightly, his lips moving wordlessly. Beads of sweat slid down the ashen-colored skin.

Less than fifteen minutes later he could tell that although now very groggy, Hutch had some relief. Starsky's back protested the twisted angle that jettisoned his spinal column into some hard metal but he didn't want to

disturb his partner. Deep sleep would soon kick in.

A few passersby ogled the strange sight of the Adidas sneaker on concrete and the two grown men sharing the passenger seat. Hutch's head on Starsky's sweat-dampened chest-- but that was life as they knew it these days. He was just glad Hutch wasn't hurting anymore.

Twelve hours later, a resurrected Hutch innocently tried to determine why he had awakened to a much-irritated David Starsky. When his partner related the story of Hutch's total lack of cooperation, the blond-haired man apologized.

Starsky made Hutch promise to not put him through it again. He made it clear that once Hutch got that bad off, he --Detective Sergeant David Starsky, best friend and partner to Ken Hutchinson, was the one in charge---or he'd be driving Hutch right to the nearest hospital and sign him in for an overnighter.

The headaches scared the shit out of Starsky. He didn't have to tell his friend that. Starsky had been put through the ringer for nearly a year—not knowing if Hutch was dead or alive and then nursing him back to health. How could Hutch not agree to ease some of his devoted caretaker's burden? After all Starksy had done for him. So it was no miracle that Hutch agreed. He'd ditch the hero act when it came to taking the medicine. But, the blond-haired man negotiated--- _all the other stuff_—the _nausea, vomiting, sleeplessness, nightmares_ - was still off limits. They belonged to him alone Hutch said, laying out his territory – _his rules_ for any agreement between them. Starsky, his caretaker for almost seven months, had babied and mother-henned him until all the cows _and_ their calves had come home. Of course that comment made Starsky smirk – despite all his efforts not to.

It seemed like a well-drawn out negotiation…

A silent and non-combative Starsky hoped his partner wouldn't ask to shake on it because he had no intention of following through on that part of their verbal contract. If they did shake, Starsky figured he'd cross his fingers, legs, toes if he could manage it. He didn't have it in him to turn a blind eye to anything that distressed Hutch. When it came to protecting his best friend sometimes Starsky could swear he felt his teeth sharpen and the hackles raise on his back--like some wild night beast.

He was quick to get busy doing something else to avoid Hutch seeking some pressed flesh to seal the deal.

All of this game playing was necessary because of one Sonora Latrielle. All their anguish and anger could be traced directly to her forcible entry into their world. Starsky was more than aware of the fact that the mob boss's daughter had stripped the blond Bay City detective of much of his personal dignity. No matter how much Hutch tried to act otherwise.

His blond partner was still very sensitive about turning his autonomy over to anyone. As of late, he was one suspicious guy. Starsky never considered his friend to be the compulsive type. Hutch would weigh and measure—filter out the B.S and find his way through any problem---except when it came to romance. In that area of his life, Hutch was more likely to throw all caution to the wind. Too bad Sonora didn't have that profile on his partner.

She could have easily stolen his heart by bumping grocery carts or maybe spilling out the inside of her purse in front of him, like August had done to Monster when they were in Canada. Instead she had used torture and manipulation-- poked around inside of Hutch and had done some real damage.

In this new world they found themselves in, Starsky discovered he was doing a lot of weighing and measuring too. _His scale_--things were either B.S.L. or A.S.L.—Before Sonora Latrielle _or_ After Sonora Latrielle. Maybe some people would tag him as being over dramatic—but Starsky was sure that somewhere in the middle of it all Hutch's well-being was relying on him knowing the difference.

In A.S.L. time Starsky consistently and humbly put all his passions, cravings, pursuits-- _his toys_ --away. No room for playtime. Ready to jump in when needed--regardless of Hutch's treaty with him for personal space. Both him and Hutch knew that. That was probably why Hutch had not insisted they shake hands on the deal.

All of his attention and focus,without even the slightest bit of resentment, went to Hutch. He just loved his friend that much.

Admittedly though, Starsky was tired. Weary was a better way to describe how he felt. In the past he might have just let his New York roots 'Bogart'a sickHutch into going along with David Starsky's get well quick program. A kind of his how-they-handle-stuff-like-that-back-east way of thinking. But something about that strong-arm tactic felt completely wrong—and selfish. So Starsky would bite his tongue… go get some air…walk around the block. Let the Torino fly on the highway.

Negotiate…negotiate… and negotiate…

It was exhausting him. Because of Sonora Latrielle he had to be careful with how he talked to his best friend—his brother. Because Hutch needed time to heal. To get strong again …like he was B.S.L.

Losing Hutch for so many months and then weeks and weeks of care-taking had depleted Starsky's reserves tremendously. He hated to say that quite honestly he needed a break from the anxiety, the fears of Hutch relapsing into some amnesiatic wasteland… from being careful.

Then there was Sonora Latrielle. She was just nuts enough to come out of hiding to take another turn at retrieving her husband—one Ken Hutchinson. A man who was walking around with all the necessary programming for a quick re-loading of the life Latrielle had planned for him.

Starsky had thought about running away for a week -- to some tropical sun drenched island. Even the dingy streets back home in New York – just to break up the constant pressure.

If he ran, Starsky realized, he'd still be taking with him that odd feeling in his gut. The one that was whispering to him to watch out… _troubles comin'--don't let your guard down_.

The ongoing mantra of his sixth sense, warning him to stay very near to his brother.

So instead of running, Starsky quietly went into training.

Mindful to force himself to eat, sleep. Starsky started back lifting weights--pushed himself to pump out 200 sit-ups, 50 pull-ups every night before slipping under the covers. Going out for long runs – the kind Hutch would have loved to see him do _B.S.L_.—before her. Building muscle and stamina. Instinctively preparing for a fight.

Starsky didn't spend any time questioning his own strange behavior. He hated exercise, liked to stay up at night watching scary movies with a bowl of ice cream and butter saturated popcorn—but he found himself opting out of making those kind of choices. That was peacetime living.

He just couldn't allow himself that decadent luxury. Something was at stake. He didn't discuss it with Dobey but had a private conversation with Huggy one night. He just wanted to run it by someone and hoped they would tell him he was being silly. That's not what happened.

"Yeah, so---ahh…," Huggy said as he pretended to be interested in washing down the bar with the rag in his hand. "You're feeling on edge, huh?"

Starsky squinted back at the barkeep who was saying more than he was saying.

"You heard something, Hug?" Starsky asked, quietly urging him to share it.

"Starsk..it's nuth…"

"Why you keeping it to yourself? If you know something that's got to do with me and Hutch?" Starsky sat up in the barstool and stopped the skinny man's feigned effort to clean up a fake sticky spot on the beaten up wood surface.

Huggy sighed in surrender and faced his police friend. "All I'm saying – _is_-if you're wise _you'll keep your guard up_. You remember it was me out there with you—on the lamb. If you think that crazy chick believin' she's Hutch's wife is just gonna disappear in the background—then I don't know you _like I think I know you_—that's all." He paused, "Sides… I heard today…her and that side of beef is splitsville."

He let Starsky digest the bad news before continuing. "That's a possibility of a two-prong attack—and man," Huggy gritted his teeth, "... I'm feeling tense about what that means for Blondie… _and you_."

Starsky sat back. How could he have forgotten about the menacing role the giant bodyguard had played back in the dungeon of Sonora's? And every other time he'd come face to face with him, the bodyguard's expression always carried a threat. A deep seated desire of wanting to tear Starsky limb from limb.

Latrielle had Monster on a short leash and if they had gone their own ways, the wall of paid muscle's behavior was a wild card. The giant could go into hiding or seeking revenge on behalf of the Latrielle family, come after him and Hutch. They had targets put on their backs before for less.

The point was any change in the Latrielle camp could mean trouble for them.

Disturbed by the thought of having to fight off Sonora with one hand and that Monster of hers with the other --Starsky wondered how many more sit ups was he going have to do to wrestle with that hunk of muscle?

"Starsk?"

"Yeah, Hug—I hear you. Sounds like trouble. Do me a favor, huh? Let's just keep this quiet. Kay? Hutch is … well, he doesn't need any setbacks, you know?"

"Yeah…," the barkeep said sympathetically. "You neither, Curly. Why you think I was playing it like that. You sure Hutch isn't gonna pick up your worry antennae is all the way on high?"

"Guess I'm gonna have to play it cool."

"_Right_. Dude, even your cool is hot," he joked, lashing the dishrag out at the dark-haired cop.

"Right." Starsky answered with a grin. Understanding completely when it came to protecting his partner, he could get more than hot under the collar. Starsky went back to sipping his beer—contemplatively.

"Hmm," he said out loud as he reflected

"Yeah," Huggy said in agreement. "I got a feelin' too," he said confirming Starsky's suspicious thoughts.

**(tbc)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Circle of Grief: CHAPTER 4**

"Starsky, sit down."

"You—you can't do this!" Starsky growled but followed the order.

"Listen to me, son—I got concerns. For you and for Hutch. _These headaches_…"

"Cap'n—don't do this. He's putting in the hours—just like everybody else..."

"What if he has one while you're out there, Dave?" Dobey waved his hand at a window to indicate the streets below it. "And you need back up? That's two of my officers at risk..."

"Cap," Starsky cut him off, "—you see what you're doin here. Cap'n, we're not trying to hide nuthin' from you--_and look what the pay off is_. This is _not_ affecting our job performance. Damn—seventy percenta' this new assignment is desk work, right—_right_?"

"Arghh," Dobey wordlessly argued.

"No, Cap'n. Listen_. Seventy percent_-- desk work. Cold calls— _paperwork, _reading over the investigation. So that leaves—what? Ahh, thirty percent -- _field work_. Just re-interviewing the witnesses. Halfda interviewing is done right here. Our shoes barely touch black tar.''

"_Starsky_…"

"No- no—_listen._ Let's say--maybe there's a fifteen percent chance we'll run into a possible new suspect _or_ a new name comes up. That fifteen percent's a high guesstimate—''

"Stars…"

"Cap'n—," He sat forward, getting eye to eye with his superior. "Captain--he needs this—and you know it… you gotta. _Look_, if there's even a hint of us running into trouble, I swear—we'll arrange backup. I don't care how much Hutch whines about it--I won't take even a chance of puttin' neither one of us in a dangerous situation."

Starsky's lowered voice acknowledged Dobey's fears. "I see the picture in your head--- Hutch catches one of his debilitating headaches— and goes down. And then I'm a target—get taken down. Then they-they swing back around to finish him off." Starksy shook his head almost to dispel the horrible worst case scenario he'd painted for both of them. "Nobody, _nobody_ understands the ramifications more than me."

Dobey's sigh signaled his impending surrender.

"I would never let it happen." Starsky's steely gaze sought to quell some of Dobey's concern.

"Well, I see then-- you've thought about what could happen," the larger man said.

"Yeah, I have."

"The doctors---sooner or later are gonna get wind of this," Dobey predicted.

"Well, right now they're okay with it. So, until that happens…Cap'n, _please_ – let us do our job. I think Hutch deserves a shot at proving he could do it…"

"_What about these headaches, Starsky?"_

"Look, everybody's got the picture—Hutch _is _on desk duty. And that's mostly factual. People work with chronic pain all the time, he's handlin' it. Most days he's just fine. Let's say he was on disability--they'd make him work a desk to collect a check anyway. His--his headaches-- it ain't a distraction. Fact is, he's more deliberate than ever because he's so self-conscious about messin' up— 'cept when it's like the one where, you know--like the one he had that time when you helped me get him home. He's only had four of 'em like that. _Four_ –outta, _heck_—sixty some odd work days. _C'mon__, Captain_," he pled for Dobey's cooperation to continue to support Hutch's effort to put his life back in order. "He deserves a shot at getting things right again… and you know it," Starsky boldly added.

Dobey fiddled with a pen while he considered his decision. Finally he spoke; "If – _if_ they get more severe--I wanta hear it from you, Dave. _You understand?"_

"I gotcha, Captain!" Starsky happily acknowledged. He'd presented a good defense and had won his case. Crossing his heart, "I promise. Scout's honor," he said enthusiastically.

"_I'm serious Dave…"_

Starsky lifted his right hand to confirm his pledge.

Dobey answered by stabbing a meaty forefinger at his detective, raising a warning eyebrow — making the point that it would be Starsky's butt in the fire if it went down any other way.

Starsky, grinning widely, backed his way out of the office.

The person he bumped into as he rushed out of Dobey's office was his partner.

Hutch stood – arms crossed. A penetrating stare made it clear he was well aware he must have been the topic of conversation at the impromptu meeting with their superior.

But Starsky, unfazed by the cold greeting, just grinned comfortably. "_Ay_--he's doin' the concerned father thing, you know? I told him you're aces—kay?" He gave his blond friend a gentle slap on the back, steering him down the hallway.

Hutch relaxed measurably. "He worries too much."

"That's what I told him, partner." Starsky also steered the direction of the conversation "Hey, it's almost lunch time…_ain't it_?"

"Starsk, it's ten thirty."

They talked easily as they walked.

"Ohh…is it? Feels later. _Hey_, how far did you get with the Bernardo murder?" Starsky asked.

"Nowhere really. All the witnesses on record are either dead _or_ moved out of state--- no forwarding info. There's no Social Security or driving license info on them."

"Think we should ditch it? Put it on the bottom of the pile?"

Hutch slid a hand through his long hair. "Hmm, I don't know. Maybe I'll go through it all again and see if I missed anything. How about the Sanderson case?"

"You know it's a real weird one—I think it's a dead end. Maybe we should exchange 'em and see if a new eye catches sumpthin'."

"That sounds like a good idea," Hutch agreed. "I'm not looking forward to re-reading the Bernardo file a third time and the photos of the crime scene are some of the worst I've seen…"

They were back in business.

**-osOOso-**

He spent hours in the apartment just touching the things Starsky said belonged to him.

His possessions…minus the memories of actually using them. He'd pick up an object and study it. Looking for markings…anything that would remind him of why he had chosen to own it.

That is how he found the pictures of the women.

One night after a dinner of Mexican omelettes and whole wheat toast--a meal prepared by his partner, Hutch had introduced the topic.

"Speaking of having a love life…" Hutch ventured into deep water.

"Hey, I thought we were talking baseball," Starsky quipped, turning his attention away from the game on the television they had been watching and having casual conversation about.

Hutch noticed the way Starsky's demeanor stiffened. The body language of his dark-haired friend, who shifted away from him, was telling.

"Looks like you prefer I not go down that road… that can't be too good for me," Hutch commented.

"Hutch. You like the ladies… they like you." Starsky followed the statement with a drink of a third of the bottle of beer he was holding.

"I…ahh… found some pictures."

Starsky tried to hide a frown but he couldn't and Hutch pressed him. "Who are they, Starsk?"

Starsky was slow to lay it all out. Tales of the women Hutch had let close to him. Hutch learned about the pattern of love sought, betrayal--his poor choices _or_ destiny-- either one. It all came down to the same truth. Sonora was just a cherry on top of his very nasty recorded history with women.

Sure he liked 'em— the part he wasn't so sure about was them liking _him._ Not after the stories Starsky had just told.

Sounded to Hutch like even if this nightmare with Sonora had not happened he would have gladly waltzed his way into some other romantic disaster.

"Married and divorced by twenty five and ah… falling in love with a hooker—those are the highlights?" Hutch commented sarcastically. "Not surprising I don't remember them."

Starsky turned to face him. "Hey, those ladies loved ya. Alright? They just wasn't any good at it. You can't pass judgments on yourself because of their failins…"

"Starsky…" Hutch raised a hand to dismiss any attempt by his partner to whitewash the sad truth. He'd played the role of sucker before.

"No, listen…" Starsky gripped Hutch's thigh to make his point. "I-- I talked to Gillian… the night before—you know? She loved you, partner. She was possibly a woman who got started down the wrong path, but I know it was _you_ who made her realize that. And she was willing to risk her life to get on the right one—with you."

"Hmmm--you sound sympathetic. I'm not feeling that generous just now."

"S'okay," Starsky said sadly.

They turned back to watch the game but that horrible night when Starsky had watched Hutch walk in to find her dead body splayed across the floor, just like any other crime scene, was a dark shadow moving in on them.

Several days later…Starsky had to relive that moment

On a regular old Saturday. Things had been moving in that direction. Regular. Starsky should have known better. Life for him and Hutch was hardly regular for too long. He had rung the doorbell with an elbow—because he had two large coffees in his left hand and a bag with take out of pancakes and blackberry compote in the other. Having to press the bell for a second time is what he didn't like. Not because it was inconvenient for him to set the tray holding the coffees down—no it was because it didn't feel right. Hutch knew he was coming.

They had made plans for the day—discussed it all week. Sleep late, breakfast. Then a long drive up the coast for a late dinner at one of Hutch's favorite B&B's that he hadn't remembered. Another one of those 'must do's' on Starsky's campaign to re-introduce his partner to himself. What could go wrong?

"Hutch?" Starsky called out after using his key to get into the apartment. He placed the bag and coffee down when he heard the muffled sound. Like someone was trying to contain their sobbing.

The pictures of Gillian left solitary in the middle of the floor—just like the body years before -- made him swallow hard.

He found him in the greenhouse. Hutch was a mess.

Walking in a circle, hands clasping over the sobs he was trying to stop. His face marred by a long cycle of despair.

Starsky took measured steps as he approached him, speaking softly. "Hutch."

He had picked up the pictures of Gillian and Hutch's eyes immediately focused in on them. Her image displayed before him ignited a new round of sobbing.

And Starsky – just like that night so many nights past – wrapped his arms around his weeping partner who had been hit hard by the memory. Hit had by the emotions.

"You're membrin' it," Starsky announced sadly. Jay's doctor friend had told him Hutch could get hit suddenly with the past-- dragging all of the feelings back with them.

Unfortunately, Gillian's death was one of those revisiting ghosts from the past Starsky wished could have stayed in there.

He kept strong arms around his partner just like he'd done on the horrible night Hutch had found Gillian dead. "I'm here," he whispered. What more could he say? Now wasn't the time to tell him – you know this happened so long ago. Not when the raw emotions of his partner were screaming otherwise. How long had his partner been crying – alone? It must have been terrifying to him to be assaulted by the tragedy- having his feet knocked out from under him just like that.

"Hey." Starsky released his hold so he could look at him. Hutch hung his head down as if to hide his shame; his inability to control his weeping. "No." Starsky told him sympathetically, "S'alright. Doctor Whalen said this could happen to ya. I'm just sorry I wasn't here**." **He fought to keep his own tears from turning into an all-out cry of sympathy_._ He needed to be strong for his friend.

Starsky put a palm to Hutch's cheek, lifting his face to inspect it. "C'mon." He led his distraught partner to the bathroom and instructed him to wash his face with cold water.

A shaky hand reached out for the towel Starsky had waiting. Hutch laid it across the sink and braced himself by holding onto both sides of the shiny porcelain as he tried to compose himself. "Silly," he mumbled.

Starsky touched his arm. "No-- it ain't. You loved her, man." While those words were the truth, it may not have been the right thing to say because it set off the deep throated sobbing again. Hutch grabbed the towel up and buried his face in it.

All Starsky could do was run a sympathetic hand up and down his friend's back.

And that was how the regular Saturday went. There wasn't any driving up the coast. Just Hutch's fighting for composure and then losing it as the tears would come. He couldn't stop from crying and neither could Starsky as he stayed close to his friend's side, offering a wet towel, tissues, glasses of water, re-heated pancakes…waiting for the memories to settle back into the past where they belonged-- with Gillian.

**-osOOso-**

When it came to women, Starsky had a simple, tried and true formula. Attraction, pursuit, pizza dinner followed by a deep kiss full of the tastes of the just eaten banquet.

Then see where mutual desire took them. That mutual desire which would take the relationship to the next level - casual dating. If there was no chemistry between them, Starsky would graciously say "nice meeting you" and move on. When dating a young woman the system was at its best when both him and the lady found they loved hanging out together. Simple. It worked or it didn't. Truthfully, it wasn't like Starsky didn't want a long term relationship – but he was a realist. Didn't expect a lot up front. Didn't start looking for _it_ until the middle. His just wanting to have a fun game plan had caused Hutch to once throw the word 'hedonist' his way. Starsky didn't take offense to the accusation. He was a healthy red-blooded man. Sure, he had his sensitive parts— but beer, baseball, and chasing after the ladies was all part of the New York born-and-raised breeding he was so proud of. But honestly, being a cop --working such brutal hours just made it more tempting to focus on the just having fun part of dating. He didn't want to spend the 'morning after' an evening of hot sex discussing if the color the sun was casting inside was a golden hue or lemon mist. Not when his workdays consisted of being shot at-- or answering calls for a reported dead body several times a week. After a ten or twelve hour day working on the rough streets of Bay City--- laughing and some heavy petting was the best prescription a doctor could have ordered.

Problem was, Hutch was on the complete opposite end of that spectrum. It wasn't that his partner never went for the one-nighter now and again. But those dalliances didn't rate too high in his blond buddy's book of true romance. Sure, Hutch wanted to have fun, he had his physical needs like everybody else – that was a fact—but mostly Hutch wanted to fall—_be--_ in love. Starsky wasn't sure how he knew that about his friend – but he did. Darn, Starsky believed in love—just the kind without the fairy-dust. He was more cautious about traveling down that road. Not to say he hadn't slipped up a few times—fallen head over heels and paid dearly for it. Maybe it was part of the NY upbringing that had him keep people at a comfortable distance until he determined how much to trust them. But keeping a safe zone was his general rule. Hutch's style was more like dive right in.

For some reason—perhaps having to do with growing up in the Midwest – Hutch wanted —to reach out, to touch, to draw all kinds of people close to him. Starsky guessed it could have something to do with Hutch not growing up with drug dealers, junkies, and criminally-minded gang members on the corner. Being able to leave home without having to watch your back from the moment you left the brownstone steps. Starsky's childhood environment.

He'd seen his first dead body at age ten. A little girl on the block run over by Mr. Demartini, the alcoholic who lived next door. Not too many butterflies and fields covered with buttercups and evenings on the front porch watching fireflies light up the night— That's the way Hutch had described summers at his grandparent's farmhouse.

Starsky often wondered if his friend's musing about romance, love, and springtime were anchored in some poem read in youth that possessed him. If on one of those summer nights, Hutch, drunk on the intoxicating scent of honeysuckle vines, had misinterpreted its meaning. What else could have made Hutch yearn so deeply for something Starsky was sure only existed in the pages of a collection of the best old-world poetry?

Listening to Hutch's deep reflections about the woman who at that moment had him twisted up on the inside, Starsky often had to fight the urge to grab and shake him, yelling, "_Don't you get it buddy, Romance is dead. Damn it. Just take her out for pizza."_ But every time he looked into the light blue eyes filled with anticipation of flowing fountains and romantic strolls through fields of fragrant flowers-- Starsky would just squash his thoughts of reading Hutch the riot act. Why should he try and change his blond friend anyway? He'd come to expect that maybe one day, Hutch would sprout wings and take off to some enchanted magic forest land.

He didn't have the heart to bring his partner back down to earth – plead for him to live the life of mortal man. It might just kill him. Still, fantasy was one thing-- but why did he have to get so much love and trust knotted into the scenario? That was where the pain came in. It wasn't that he was naïve—Hutch knew the risk but was willing to take the chance that all that zest of new love was going to blossom into the romance of a lifetime.

Thing was, Hutch wasn't a sucker - or desperate. Hutch just knew what he had the capacity to give---and wanted to give it. Give to the fullest… one of those guys who didn't want to go to his grave with all his passion and fire buried deep in his heart. In the campaign to get it all out, Starsky thought his friend had lost perspective. Hutch kept giving but didn't measure what he got back in return. What woman wouldn't jump at the offer? Hutch was good-looking, hardworking, passionate ---putting his all into being in love with them.

Starsky's theory—most of the women, when they had time to digest how much Hutch was willing to give, couldn't match the offer. That's when bad stuff would happen and true to form Hutch would figure he had failed once again to meet their expectations. The truth was that he had run them off by surpassing their expectations. Of course Hutch never saw it that way.

Starsky could no more protect Hutch from his own unrealistic expectations of romance than he could go back in time and snatch up the dreaded poem before a young and impressionable Ken Hutchinson had read it.

The die had been cast. Hutch was a hopeless romantic.

Sadly, the fact was that Sonora had somehow managed to sneak inside Hutch's heart, put herself in a place where Starsky could not evict her from. Didn't matter how she got there.

Sonora didn't belong in that enchanted magical forest with the 'White Knight'. She belonged behind bars--in a prison cell. The cruel woman had burrowed deep inside Hutch's heart like some crazed gopher digging its way into good earth. Ironically, every time Hutch tried to expel her everything he believed about love faced the same expulsion…threatening to take a huge chunk of Hutch with it.

**-osOso-**

_He woke up in her arms. The warmth of her skin radiated against his. He smiled before opening his eyes to her. She was watching him—he could feel it. _

"_You in there," she mewed huskily as she stretched out her body. Pressing it against him in familiar intimacy._

"_Hmmm," he answered,__delight surfacing in his voice. Peeking through half-slit eyes, he mimicked her sexy voice, "How are you?" _

_She smiled up at him, "How are you?" she asked playfully, massaging a warm touch into his bare skin._

"_Never better."_

"_Well, that's exactly the right answer." _

"_Is this a test?" he joked, slipping his arms around her, pulling her up onto his chest. _

"_You'd get an A minus."_

"_A minus?" he scoffed._

"_Well, that's just so you have room to grow--,"_

_He wrestled with her, catching her arms behind her back in a close squeeze while nibbling at her neck. She laughed uncontrollably until tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. "S-stop s—stop...yoo-u--you know I'm_

_t-ticklish…you're terrible…stop…" _

"_Not until I get my A," he mocked in a gruff voice as he continued attacking her neck. _

"_OK... Ooooo—OK, You--you win," she said breathily._

_He stopped. And her giggles stopped just as abruptly. The playing was over._

_He stared down with heated passion. He loved to look at her. Especially in the early morning—when her golden skin was flushed radiant with a dawn glow. He knew every detail about her coloring in the morning, the way her thick black lashes looked the same with or without mascara… Why she was all golden and shimmering--like a priceless piece of art-- he didn't know – but he treasured it._

_His enraptured gaze followed his thumb as he used it to slowly glide over her cheekbones._

_She was quiet, letting him gently trace over her eyebrows, down the length of her nose, over her slightly open mouth as he kept his eyes locked intently on her._

"_Beautiful," he __whispered. He slid a hand into the dark curls that framed her face and brought her face to his. Drawing her close with his other arm --he kissed her greedily and she whimpered her compliance. _

Hutch grunted himself awake—swung his legs off the bed. He dropped his head into his hands. Why wouldn't she leave him be? She didn't belong…in his head…his bed. Even in his dreams he couldn't fight her off.

"Leave me ALONE!" he growled to his phantom wife. Only the walls around him heard the cry. He fell back into the bed. Frustrated, he beat a fist into a pillow, rolled it up and tucked it back under his head. He lay there, concentrating on his breaths as he tried to empty his mind of her. Banishing the woman he'd been _married to _just a few months ago…

Why couldn't he block her from his thoughts --his heart? He should have been strong enough to do that. It wasn't love…it was poison. Injected into him just like the heroin that had been shot into his veins. He had cravings…for the drug back when Ben Forest's goons had beaten him down and addicted him to heroin. And now cravings…for her. The analogy was a perfect one to make. Heroin and Sonora…wicked, nefarious, and destructive. He almost laughed out loud at the irony of it all. Addicted— his body…invaded by the heroin years before and now the second invasion by Sonora Latreille and her witchdoctor Archelaus. Hutch's mind and heart now strung out on her.

Had to be some invisible SUCKER sign hanging over him… A sick joke being played on him time after time.

Something punched him in his gut… _No… stop it… don't do this…that's what they want you to think…stop…you beat them_…his voice or Starsky's, he wasn't sure. Whichever, it was his saving grace, once again rescuing him.

The fire inside him – his inner strength…his intelligence…his spirit was there to burn up the impurities that were attempting to push him back into a pit.

He'd taken what Forest had done to him. Fought back and beat down the voracious yearning pushing him to make a midnight run for one more ride of ecstasy--_just a little won't hurt_. Remembering the soaring pure joy of flying high on the horse riding through his veins. And then…

There was the guilt for having such thoughts and Starsky's silently spoken – _If you fall – I'm here- I'm here_. Sometimes he'd get the shakes so bad he couldn't think of anything else but the drug… wanting a fast track to relieve the itching inside.

The wanton desire…

To get high--be high…

Wanting her— wanting Sonora--was like that.

But, he'd fight for his life—the life that made him Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson. The craving to be himself stronger than the one to be high…on a twisted lie.

"C'mon, Hutchinson," he muttered. Coaching himself, breathing deeply, counting, running drills of textbook police procedures in his head… so she would go away.

**(tbc)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Circle of Grief: Chapter 5**

**-osO****so-**

Huggy leaned across the bar. Both he and Hutch made small talk while they watched Starsky play pool against one of the Friday night regulars.

"_So?_" Huggy, inquired carefully. "_You ok?_" The question was out there. Hanging in the air like the smoke in the packed club. Hutch's face was emotionless and Huggy wasn't even sure his friend had heard him. A minute ticked away "There're…ahh…some-- challenges," Hutch finally replied.

"You know, if you need to talk to somebody. I yaaa- know you don't want that one to worry." He nodded toward Starsky, who almost on cue looked up at his two friends, raising a half-filled beer mug to them.

Hutch flashed a less-than-genuine smile that Huggy could tell from up close was meant to give some kind of assurance to the dark-haired member of the duo.

"_He know how much you think about her?"_

Hutch turned his back to the pool table and to Starsky. He took a long draw on his own beer before answering. "Yeah." His features showed sadness and Huggy could swear his friend's eyes glistened.

"Nuthin' you can help. I mean…you…did…." Huggy shook his head, as he tried to express what was in his heart. "Man, Hutch… you done us proud-- _you know_? Lotta men wouldn't be sitting here –not after all you been through."

Hutch looked up into Huggy's face and then down. Bashfully smiling at the compliment and encouragement his friend was heaping on him.

"So what --if you find yourself thinkin' about her now and again. That ain't your doin' and I'm sure Starsky don't think any less of you for it. Man, that guy's just grateful you're back home-- where you belong. Me too, Hutch. What I'm trying to say is -- things just wasn't right around here with you gone…"

"Hug—you tryin' to get me to start bawlin' or what?"

"Humph—a tough guy like you?" Huggy teased.

Hutch smiled, a real one this time. "It was a crazy ride—I'm glad to be off of it."

"I'll drink to that, Blondie…" he lifted a glass. "_Speaking of hair_..." Huggy squinted to inspect Hutch's longer than ever hair. "What's up… with the…"

"Hey…" Interrupting the conversation, Starsky came up behind Hutch, announcing his arrival, "Barkeep—don't be harassing my partner--just cuz he's doin' a little _follicular experimentation_…"

"What?" Hutch butted in.

"You know like—ahh-- that guy. Ummm-- Samson or the other one— " Starsky, comfortably drunk, flashed teeth and a wink at Huggy, before delivering the punch line… "ah, _Rapunzel_."

Hutch faked a punch to Starsky's gut just as the dark-haired man was finishing off the beer in his glass mug. "Oh- yeah-- well maybe I'll put it up in a bun- so it don't get in my eyes—when I'm treatin' you to an old- fashion ass kickin'."

Starsky choked on a laugh, spraying beer from his nose and mouth all over the front of Hutch's shirt.

"_Staarrs_k." Hutch dramatically feigned disgust as he stared down at the beer he'd been showered with.

Huggy imitated Hutch's revulsion, "That _is soo _gross, dude." Grinning happily to have the boys back. Making fun and a scene – just like old times. He tossed Starsky a blue bar rag. The dark-haired cop caught it and immediately went to wiping down Hutch's dampened shirt. Hutch stood, dutifully faking a frown as Starsky coughed and giggled while he dabbed at the mess he'd made.

A few people, watching the two men, laughed out loud --causing Hutch to blush red as he slapped his friend's hands away.

Huggy relished the scene--- it was very much like old times. Thank God.

**-osOso-**

"I don't get it, doc."

"Memory is tricky, Ken. That's the best explanation I can offer. I'm sorry."

Disappointed, Hutch shook his head at the psychiatrist's answer. "But shouldn't I-I mean--I'm home. I'm working--got my life back—and still…" He sighed and leaned into the back of the brown leather couch--choosing to stare at the ceiling above rather than try to put into words what he was feeling.

"Listen…it's no surprise your experiences with Ms. Latreille-- the life you were living with her—are prominent –stand out. And your memories of life before her don't…

Incensed, Hutch sat up. "Life before her! What life before her? I hardly remember it."

"Well… yes. _That's my point_. I really think it's just a matter of more time--more patience on your part."

"God…I'm sick of patience." Hutch hunched over, wringing his hands in agitation.

"Ken— I think you are being too hard on yourself. You're back to work…doing your job. I've talked to Dobey—he's more than satisfied with your performance. You are back in your apartment, socializing--right? You've told me your partner's been a great help to you figuring out where things fit into your life."

"Yeah. _He shouldn't have to tell me though_—you know?"

"Your memory….memories…were cruelly snatched away, Ken—and I'm not trying to tell you to get up and get over it. _Yes_--you should be angry about it. But what I will tell you is don't further complicate things by beating yourself up for not being able to put everything back to the way it was right away. _The only person_ you need to be angry with is Sonora Latrielle.

"Yeah, well-- that would be a lot easier if I didn't have her face popping up in my head all of the time."

"Hmmm, well…that's a very honest observation and a very challenging situation to be in…"

"_Challenging situation?"_ Hutch stood up. Heated, he pointed out to the doctor, "It's easy for you to sit back with your _observations_… but I need to know – when_--when_ is it gonna stop? When will all the memories of the months she had me under lock and key –_when_ are they gonna go away? And the people, names---memories of my life—_MY Life_—come back? Can you answer that?"

"I don't know. I can't… tell you when." The doctor sounded sad. "Ken I hope-- I pray, you get it all back. But I can't promise you that. It's really about…"

Hutch cut him off, "Yeah, doc-- I know – wait and see."

**(tbc)**


	6. Chapter 6

( I apologize to my readers for the delay in posting this story. Now since the Holiday Season is winding down, I'll be back to posting more regularly. Thanks for staying with me, Trish. **** I wish you all success in the New Year**** )

(sorry for any typos)

**Circle of Grief : CHAPTER 5a**

Starsky was in charge.

That was the way it was. The way it was gonna be for a while.

No bitterness on his part about it. Any anger Hutch had was strictly reserved for the witch of a woman who had succeeded in dismantling his life.

Starsky was still stuck in protective mode. Unconsciously making up for each and every moment Hutch had been out of his sight – and in his worries.

He'd catch Starsky pointedly staring through him as if he was x-raying Hutch's insides for hidden damage. His dark-haired partner would make casual inquiries about where Hutch was going on his way home and fake a reason to call to make sure he'd arrived there safely. _'Ummm, ahhh. Did I tell ya Ma said hi?_' or _'Hey, what's the ahh, weather gonna be like tomorrow?' _

It was all endearing, except for the part of Starsky being so worried. Still, worried? Why was that? Hutch wouldn't allow himself to even think about

why his partner was anticipating trouble.

His job was to get back to a hundred percent and let Starsky handle everything else.

The holistic care from his partner was the sweetest, most motivating thing in his life. It made him smile many a time to know he meant that much to anyone. Who in their right mind wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of so much love and care?

Of course sometimes it was a bit overwhelming but, Starsky knew exactly when to back off, so he didn't feel completely helpless.

They hadn't talked about what had happened in Sonora's chamber of torture since they had left the safe house in the woods.

And in some ways Hutch had made a faster recovery from it all than Starsky. While Hutch had a jacked up memory, Starsky suffered from a crystal clear one.

Even if it had been Hutch's choice to take alone the burden of the brutality Sonora could have inflicted on both of them, the decision had still caused Starsky harm. The pain of watching Sonora doling out her punishment on him. Starsky suffering from survivor's guilt was the simplest way to define it. But it was more than that. Starsky, a guy who enjoyed his regular trips to the toy store, putting together model ships and planes in his free time, was an enigma. The man who could get excited about spending the afternoon hanging out in thrift shops looking for toys of his youth also had a deadly somber retributive side. That side of him wasn't dealing too well with the fact that Sonora, Dr Archelaus, and Frank had gone unpunished for what they had done to his partner.

Hutch could live with her fading into the night unprosecuted if it meant

he'd never had to face her again. Maybe that was the best thing for him.

Starsky didn't have to tell him about all the calls he'd made behind Hutch's back to try and track her down. He knew his dark-haired friend had gleaned through files of other gangsters connected to her, looking for any possible leads to her whereabouts. He was also sure Starsky had quietly enlisted Minnie, Huggy, and other resources to assist him in his search. All of that activity kept from him and Hutch, of course, wouldn't even hint at his knowledge of such things. Didn't have to--they both knew there wasn't a chance on earth of Starsky allowing such injury to his best friend to go unpunished.

However it played out. He didn't need to worry about Sonora coming for him again.

Starsky would for now and for always be solidly on the job - making sure she'd never get anywhere near him.

His best friend would do anything to protect him.

**-osOso-**

Starsky watched the partially-clad man who opened the door make a quick move to cover them.

The scars.

The explanation for Hutch's effort to quickly pull together the button down shirt he'd tossed on to answer the door. He probably didn't expect to find it was Starsky, having a bit of fun, who had been the person repeatedly laying into his doorbell. Hutch, most likely, thinking it was some annoying solicitation or an aggressive Jehovah Witness.

The friends stood there, eyes wide. Each one shaken by the abruptness of Hutch's fumbling attempt to hide the scars on his upper chest. Sonora's branding into the flesh there like a rancher's claim to a calf.

The three raised lines of damaged skin both the evidence of the beating and the physical proof of his love for a friend.

Starsky opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Hutch's face reddened, embarrassed for trying to hide what Starsky already knew was there. He shrugged and shook his head to suggest a conversation about it all was not a good way to move forward.

Starsky gently nodded. He'd follow Hutch's lead. Bumping shoulders with his partner as he entered the apartment, his playful mood gone. Darker thoughts much more prominent now.

It was easy to tell when Starsky was thinking of her—he'd become brooding and quiet. Sunday quarterbacking his own actions-- making scenarios in his head—where he would be the one walking around with the scars.

**-osOso-**

"Gotta surprise for you."

Starsky eyed him suspiciously, "You givin' out gifts--without me begging…"

"Huh?"

"Aw—nuthin." Starsky just smiled wistfully.

"What is it?" Hutch pressed him.

"I'm, just ahh - thinking back to the cat 'n mouse games you used ta play with me when it came to birthdays and Christmas."

"Ohhh…sorry," Hutch offered a sad sounding apology.

"Hey—it was just jokin' around. It's funny – you were always surprisin' me with stuff you had picked up for no reason. Books, and albums…tickets to concerts or a game, uhhmm—cook up a special dinner..."

Hutch listened intently as if Starsky was talking about an old friend… "I did that?" He smiled shyly, tipping his head to listen to more of what Starsky was about to reveal.

"Yeah… but you always gave me a hard time about birthdays and Christmas especially—one time you ahh--- called it "euphoric sentimentalism"—you-- _weren't gonna buy into it_."

"Sounds a little scroogy," Hutch observed, scratching his jaw while he thought about it.

"Well— ya didn't mean nuthin' by it. Hey—I don't know if you remember Molly—huh?"

Hutch gave a quick shake of his head. "Molly?"

"She was this young kid--- twelve. Her dad got killed by a couple of losers right around the holiday. And, you buddy—took her in. Cuz you didn't want her to be alone for Christmas. She still keeps in touch; in fact she called Dobey when she couldn't reach you. He had to tell her you were…uh…missing. He said she took it kinda hard."

Hutch looked disturbed by the news.

"Oh, no. She knows you're okay. I called her. And some day soon, she wants to come by and see ya."

"_Yeah?"_

"Uh hmm."

They both took a moment of pondering and then Starsky said, "_Anyway_, what I'm telling you is—ya got a big heart. All that posturing you do over the little stuff don't mean anything. I've seen you give bums on the street the last five in your pocket. _Okay?_"

Hutch studied his friend's face for a minute. Digging his hands into his pockets, he looked down at the floor to ask questions about another incident in his life that continued to haunt him. "What about…about the thing with Ben Forest?"

"_You wanna talk about Forest again?"_

Even though they had talked more than a few times about the kidnapping and drugging, Hutch still hadn't been able to reconcile with it.

"About the heroin," Hutch said softly. The drugs—addiction.

"There ain't nuthin' to it. We been through all this—you kicked it cold turkey."

"You sure… I didn't… that…I didn't…" Hutch's stumbling over the topic reflected his uncertainty about struggling to quit the addiction. Had he slipped up and maybe Starsky wasn't telling him about searching all night to find him stoned out of his head in some decrepit drug den?

"I'm sure pal--ya did it." Starsky looked him square in the eye. "You're a pretty determined guy -- I never doubted you."

"I remember that part—I mean about you being there with me. I can hear you talking to me like it was yesterday. Buddy, you're the one that got me through it—and you're here now," Hutch was suddenly solemn and emotional.

"Starsk, I don't ever want you to think cuz I don't remember everything we did together…that there's something missing between us. I know what we got here…and I know how…how important you are to me. I just wanted to tell you that."

The words could have bought tears streaming, but Starsky just sat quietly. Folding his hands in his lap, he cleared his throat. "Sure," he replied.

"Good." Hutch said.

Starsky cleared his throat again, "Umm-- _so what's this surprise?"_

"Oh yeah--wait here." Before bouncing out of the room he did manage to catch a glance of Starsky whipping up a hand to brush away barely aborted tears. "No soapy scenes." Hutch spoke the puzzling, strange words under his breath.

"_Huh?"_

No way could he explain that one, so Hutch, waving a hand to clear the air smiled, and answered with a shrug. "I don't know. Look, I'll -- be right back. Just wait right there pal, OK?" His instructions given, Hutch jogged out of the room.

"Okay. _Okay_." Starsky called out after him.

He started playing the song in the bedroom. Skillfully strumming and picking out the melody. He hummed along as he strode back into the living room.

"Hey!" Starsky was on his feet. "Oh wow—Hutch—you're playing!"

Hutch just nodded as he continued to strum the instrument—sitting on the edge of a side table until he was finished.

"Beautifullll!" Starsky clapped and cheered. "That's terrific! I love that song."

Hutch played around with the guitar for about an hour while Starsky, in between grins, talked until he was talked out about Hutch, and about his varied interests in music.

Another song, a magnificent blues and folk number, got played in full. Then Hutch gingerly put the guitar aside.

Starsky, losing his infectious grin, got serious again. _"Hey?"_

"Hmm?"

"You think we'll ever get past it?"

"That's the plan, right?"

"Right." Starsky sighed… grinding his palms into tired, bleary eyes.

'You know…" Hutch stalled.

"What?"

"I know this is …_has been_ rough for you, too, buddy. You're starting to look ahh..."

"Look like what?" Starsky moved his hands to squint into his partner's face. "_Like what?_" he asked impatiently.

Hutch gave him a small smile. He wanted to tell his friend that he looked worn down, worried, and ready for a fight. The combo making him look like a man who was big trouble. Easily frightening children and small dogs. Not that such an observation would send Starsky running home to get sleep or make him tear down the hyper-sensitive fence of caution he'd corralled Hutch in. So instead Hutch told him, "—like a guy who could use a beer and pizza." He was dropping the subject. He launched himself onto his feet. "_Pizza,"_ Hutch repeated, arching his eyebrows and rubbing his palms together greedily. "Now, what are we gonna get on it—pepperoni, _right_."

"But what were ya gonna say?"

"Nothin'. It was nothing." He gave Starsky a purposeful grin. "Nothin'. Forget it. You're fine. I'm fine. Let's just drown our sorrows tonight. I don't wanta talk about _her_… not tonight. It's now time to just move on, _isn't it?_ That's what I'm gonna do, and that's what I want from you." He took a seat next to his friend and slid an arm over his shoulder. _"Starsky, will ya do that?" _

"Forget about her. _What she did_? _You askin' me to forget_?"

"No. I'm telling you I don't want _you_ thinking about _her_—to change you, too. _One of us_… has to…has to be…" Hutch wavered, lowering his head and his voice, as he tried to explain. "You know, if _you_ change...I don't have anything to go back to. I-I can't put it into words exactly. _You understand?"_

Starsky sighed again. "I think so."

Hutch searched his face for affirmation. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I do. But I just…want her to pay for what she did to you."

"_Did to us_." Hutch clarified.

"OK. Did to us."

"To me and thee. _Right?_" Hutch's eyes were twinkling.

Their motto…mantra…mission statement.

"_You 'member that?"_ Starsky voice was rough with emotion.

"Uh huh." Hutch flashed a smile so big Starsky would have no choice but to reciprocate.

"Alright, alright. I'll try." He laughed lightly. "_Now_, 'bout dinner. We _could_ order some salads, _you know_. You like salad." Starsky raised a pleading brow.

"_Nah_, pepperoni."

"You like tuna."

"Pepperoni and meatball. _Yeah_--that sounds good." Hutch declared.

"Chef salad is good, too. Oil and vinegar…"

"_Ooooh_." Hutch stood up, getting excited over the toppings he wanted, "And—_bacon_. Starsk, doesn't that joint around the block have a meat lover's special?"

"No, no…no." Starsky covered his ears. "This isn't right," he argued.

Hutch waved a dismissive hand at him--with the other he lifted his jacket off a nearby chair. "Aahh, c'mon. Let's go. I can just taste it."

"_Taste_, you can taste it! No. This is nuts." Starsky, dismayed, slipped on his jacket. "I can't believe this," he muttered to himself.

"Hey, isn't that the place that has the -_all you can eat buffalo wings_?" Hutch asked on his way out the door.

Starsky, left alone in the living room raised his eyes upward. "_Help me – will ya?"_ was the prayer he made before he followed after the best friend whose

inexplicably changed eating habits were more atrocious than his own.

**-osOso-**

As Dobey spoke, Starsky studied Hutch, whose gaze was locked on the seam that ran down the side of his jeans. Just like the words meant nothing to him when Starsky knew that they had to be destroying him. Instead of jumping up and screaming, Hutch's fingers picked determinedly at a loose thread.

When Dobey finished talking, the room was filled with the intense silence of each of them acknowledging the horror of the very near future. No matter how much Starsky would argue, Hutch would dive back into the hellish fire that was Sonora Latrielle.

Almost too ridiculous to be true. Must have been a joke. Starsky wanted that to be so. But, it was no joke.

"NO." It was Starsky's commitment to the protest, not the volume that almost rattled the windows of Dobey's office. "NO!" he repeated in outrage. He reached for his partner and dragging him to his feet, manhandled him as he pushed the tall, lanky blond man out of the room and down to a secluded office.

Starsky stewed in his anger. Initially walking in circles and then taking a mighty stance, his back to Hutch, motioned for him to sit – which he did.

He turned to give his friend another study. Emotional contortions on Hutch's face settled into a sardonic smile and a sniff of cynicism, which didn't come close to showing what a hit the man had just taken.

Starsky got up in his face. Squashing all his volatility, he made his statement

with quiet finality. "We're not gonna do it." Still, in his heart Starsky knew Hutch had probably already taken the bait. He wasn't strong enough yet to block her move to get him back in her clutches.

It was ingenious how she played it.

Once word got back to 'The Family' of Sonora's marriage to a cop-- she was immediately unseated from her royal perch as Queen of the Mobsters. It didn't take too much longer for the conversation of her loyalty to lead to another conversation about her assassination. She knew way too much. How could anyone in her criminal circle be sure she hadn't already spilled her guts to that Bay City police sergeant she had shared her bed with? Marrying a cop was as good as signing her own death warrant.

So she had pulled a vanishing act. Men on both sides of the law were now hot on her tail.

While Hutch had been struggling for the last months to get his life back to some kind of order, Sonora had spent the time brokering a deal with the FBI.

She would turn herself in. And to avoid prosecution for all her past wrongdoing, Zak Latrielle's daughter would give up the names, dates, and details of the crimes of mobsters the federal agency would never have had a chance of busting. Not in a million years of field work, wiretapping, and surveillance.

The information Sonora would provide could bring down the whole West Coast operation of the International Criminal Network and supply Interpol, Scotland Yard, and others with enough intelligence to nab criminals worldwide. Certainly making major points for the Bureau and giving them the kind of international recognition that they hadn't had in years

What else did she want?

Sonora Latrielle wanted safe transport to seclusion and security during the weeks she'd be testifying before a Grand Jury.

After her testimony, with the assistance of the FBI's witness protection program, she'd disappear. Not even spending one day behind bars.

All of that was bad in itself-- unconscionable even. But the woman of both Starsky and Hutch's nightmares wanted something else… something more… or rather, some_one_.

Her personal request ---

Detective Sergeants Kenneth Hutchinson and David Starsky as the officers to escort her in from her current status of hiding to her future status as FBI informant.

"No." Starsky told him in a plea. "You ain't ready for this," he continued.

"Hutch?"

He grabbed his friend by the shoulders – ready to shake some sense into him if need be. "Don't take the bait. You think if it's not us—she's gonna let the deal with the Feds go flat? _No_—man, she wants to get back at you. You gotta know that. This ain't about her turning over some names and dates. Huh? _C'mon!"_

Starsky saw the confusion in his partner's crystal bright blue eyes. The fight_ not to be_ Sonora's husband--running to her side to save her - _and _to be the cop who was David Starsky's partner. The police detective who should know a trap when he saw one.

"Lemme handle it_. Right?_ I'll tell Dobey the timing stinks—both me and you are still getting over this thing. _Hmm?_ It's gotta be rough on him even bringing this to us." He nodded his head-- petitioning Hutch's agreement— to the plan where Starsky would run right back to Dobey and tell him to tell the Feds to stick the job somewhere the sun didn't shine. The Bureau had already screwed them over before. They had never found out how their cover had been blown last year—leaving them to walk right into Sonora Latrielle's ambush and torture chamber.

"_This_…" Hutch spoke and stopped to formulate his response. "…could take a lot of bad men down. Starsk…_murderers, drug dealers_…some of their families won't be able to recover. _How can I put myself in the way of that happenin'?" _

Starsky punched the air with a balled up fist in disagreement. "_No_…Hutch, the only man this is gonna take down _– is you_. There's…_no way _I'm gonna let this happen."

"Starsk…"

"No, we ain't doin' it…"

"I -I don't even know what I'm feelin' right now. But all I know is you been tellin' me to just keep focused on the work. That I was born to be cop and nothing could take that away from me. If— _if_ all that's true, how…how can we not be a part of bringing these guys to justice? If I, if _we _could do this…"

"No. Damn it. Hutch." Starsky got in his face. "It's not worth the risk. _Buddy_, all the days—months you've worked. Problem is--you got something in ya. Just like a homing device that's supposed to bring you right back to her. Before you blink an eye you'll be back playin' the role of her dutiful husband."

Hutch hung his head.

Starsky could see his shame. "Now, hey-- that's not your fault." He touched his arm to get Hutch to look up. "But that's a bit of truth you gotta deal with. And I'm scared, man. Neither one of us is ready to go through that nightmare again. _And_ we don't have guarantees that she's not setting you up. Yeah—it's a cop's dream to take down that many sleazeballs. _Yeah_, that would be terrific. But…not at the risk of losing you…"

Starsky stared him down, emphasizing his concern and worry by kneading fingers into the arm he kept a grip on.

Hutch, seeing his partner's distress, sighed and gave him a tentative warm smile…almost blushing at his friend's love, expressed so boldly to him. "Sorry, guess I just wanted to prove something…"

"You got nuthin' to prove. Not to the FBI, not to Dobey-- or me."

"_To myself?"_ Now Hutch moved into Starsky's personal space as he got closer to him, to quietly confess. "_To me_…I never figured I'd see her again. Never thought I'd have to deal with whether if she's got a hold on me somehow or if I got through it—over her. It's always gonna be hanging over me. I just need…" He sighed again and said, "Need to know if we're done. That's all. Or-- if part of me will always be-belong to her."

Starsky's face crumpled into a frown, his left eye slightly flinching. "Humph," he muttered thoughtfully. He walked a few steps to a nearby chair and slumped down into it; "You're not sure, huh? Guess that's what I didn't want to hear." His worries only increased by Hutch's admission of doubt about Sonora's power over him. A feeling of complete and utter dread filled Starsky. He shook his head again. "_Hu-Hutch,"_ Starsky's voice was wavering and maybe it sounded like he was begging but Starsky didn't care, "We gotta walk away from this. That's all there is."

**(tbc)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 7**

"This thing is bigger than you and Hutch. _Maybe if you start thinkin' like a cop instead of a mother hen_…."

"_That's not fair_," Starsky roared. "She kidnapped him—_the both of us_. _Police officers_. _**Kidnapping**__, __**assault**__, __**attempted murder**_. Those are real crimes—_why is everybody askin' me to forget about that!"_ He paused to take a deliberate breath. "You weren't there--you didn't see what she did to him. She tortured him within an inch of his life, Cap'n." Starsky sent a hand deep into his thick, dark curls… shaking his head as he looked into Dobey's face. "What he went though --- what _we _went through. Its gotta count for sumpthin'."

Dobey stood up. Putting a hand on his distraught officer he said, "I don't disagree, son. Between you me, I told them the same thing. Told 'im I'd take a walk."

Starsky solemnly nodded his appreciation.

"Makes me sick to my stomach what they're doing," Dobey admitted. "It stinks. But, it's out of my hands, Dave."

"You're right it stinks!" Starsky interjected.

"There's a lot of careers ridin' on this one. This is the biggest underworld crime bust the agency's seen in nearly a decade. There are people who've been waiting their whole careers for this kind of investigation to come across their desk. It's gonna bring some folks a lot of glory…a lot of press and some politicians a lotta votes. The kind of stuff money can't buy. And they don't give a rat's ass about Ken Hutchinson's emotional state right now. Dave—I put my badge down. Told 'im I'd rather walk than see either one of you take this case. _What_, you don't think I tried to fight 'em off? _I know _what this could do to him. You don't think this is tearin' up my insides? When I told them I wouldn't bring the assignment to you, they told me they didn't need _me_ to make this happen. If I refused -- I'd be in the dark completely. I couldn't let it go down like that. The only way I can protect you two—watch your backs is if you guys are still reporting to me."

"Sorry, Cap'n." Starsky patted his superior's hand in apology. "I just can't stand that she's comin' after him again."

"Dave, she's in big trouble. Life and death trouble. Maybe she's…"

"_Don't you defend her!_" The captain had ignited the dark-haired cop's ire again.

"_Alright!_" Dobey yelled back at him. "_It's screwed up_. The whole thing's a mess and I got some agent from the FBI arriving any minute now to meet with Hutchinson. They're calling it a debriefing."

"_After all this time_—they pick now to debrief him.

"Starsky, I told them all-- you and Hutch were taking a pass on this assignment and that under the circumstances, I completelysupported both of you in doing so. I think this is just procedural." Dobey's voice sounded firm but he couldn't hide the doubt and concern in his eyes and that was what Starsky responded to.

"_This-- _is bull. Doesn't matter what kinda game they're playin'. I ain't gonna do it and I won't let him do it either."

"Well…" Dobey frowned before adding, "I hope it goes down that way."

"Oh yeah—it's gonna go down that way." Starsky snapped back.

The phone rang and Dobey waved a hand for him to be quiet. _"What?" _he bellowed. "Fine! Send them in."

He slammed the receiver into the cradle, and giving Starsky a disciplinary stare, said, "Stand down, Detective. This is the Bureau's guy now."

A crisp knock and the opening of the door nearly dropped Starsky to the floor.

"They sent you?" Starsky said with great offense.

August Moon stepped into the room and nodded to the man whose office she was standing in. "Captain," she said formally.

Starsky confronted her. "_**You.**_ _August? How could you be parta this?" _

"Hello, David," she spoke kindly.

"Like I said, _how could you do this to him?"_

She was dressed in FBI agent blue… her skirt hit just the right length, hair pulled back, and black pumps just as clearly answered the question for him than anything she had to say.

She looked ashamed for about a split second but immediately fixed that by telling him; "The Latrielle case was a tough one… but I thought it ended up rather nicely."

"Ended? _No!_ If you haven't noticed," Starsky said sarcastically. "Looks to me there ain't no end to this nightmare. When _your case_ was over, me and Hutch spent months looking over our shoulders – living in shadows. Now the man has started to get his life straight-- _and you guys think nuthin' of having him go through the whole thing again!"_

"Starsky!" Dobey admonished him—pointing a meaty finger for him to sit down.

"I understand how you feel, David," August said.

"The hell you do!" Starsky barked back. "Apparently I was all wrong about you…"

"_Detective, sit_." Dobey's order to the noncompliant officer.

"The Latrielle case doesn't have to end _all_ of our careers. There's still work to be done…" the agent shared.

"_Who are you?"_ Starsky stood in front of her, softening his glare as he tried to find some recognition of what they had gone through in her eyes. "Is that what this is about, August? _Your career?_ I'm talking about my partner's life. There was time not too long ago-- you risked yours to save it."

On cue, another knock announced Ken Hutchinson's arrival. He rushed into the room.

His face lit up when he saw her; _"August? _Hey-- I thought that was you that came marching through here!" He opened his arms, pulling her into a crushing hug before she could even answer him. It squeezed out a light laugh from her as she accepted his embrace.

"Hey, Agent Moon-- you look the part. Doesn't she, Starsk?" Hutch said jokingly.

"Sure does," Starsky replied roughly as he tried unsuccessfully to hide his disgust from his partner.

"So-- what's the problem? You guys look like you're at a funeral," Hutch stated.

"I don't want no part in this. You do this on your own, _Agent Moon_," Starsky said, before he bolted toward the door.

"Hey..." Hutch called after him.

Starsky, somewhat mollified by the ebbing confusion in his friend's expression, softened his tone as he nodded at him. "I'll catch you after, _kay?_"

"_After?_"

Dobey answered Hutch's question. "Yeah, ahh, Ken, Agent Moon is here on official business."

Hutch's eyes followed Starsky's exit to settle on the closed door. He turned to the other two people in the room, "Okay," he said, _"What's going on here?"_

He waited for someone to explain why Starsky had left.

Dobey, shaking his head in dismay, exited.

-**oSo-**

"So, how have you been doing?"

Hutch gave her a slight grin. "Well, Starsky thinks I'm doing great. My jury is still in deliberations about that." He laughed lightly and added, "Pretty good, I guess. How about you? You look great."

She smiled. "Thanks. I'm, I'm good. Just still catchin' the bad guys."

"Yeah, that's our business, isn't it?"

"Your—ahhh, hair. It's much longer, right?"

"Oh, yeah. I don't know…" A splash of red suffused over his cheekbones. "Gained some weight, too," he confessed, gently patting a hand over his stomach.

"Well, it looks good on you," August complimented. "I'm so glad to see you've recovered from...well from...'eh..."

There was moment of reflection of the somber past they had shared and then Hutch answered, "Yeah…I'm doing alright."

August coughed lightly, a bit unnerved about what she was about to do. "Why don't you take a seat?" she instructed him. Hutch sat, taking a relaxed position in the chair.

She pulled out the chair next to him, laying a thin leather briefcase she was carrying between them. Puzzled, Hutch kept his eyes on the rich-looking black case...while she fumbled with silver locks.

"Hmm, you're nervous," he noted. "That's a bad sign."

August swallowed hard. She had to pull it together. "Hah…" she attempted a chuckle at the comment. What would Ken Hutchinson think if he knew inside her portfolio there were psychological profiles on two people? One of them on Sonora Laterielle and the other on him—a detailed report that had provided August with all the information she needed to manipulate him.

"I'm just ahhh—a bit tired. I had a long flight and came directly here."

Hutch just nodded, still eyeing her suspiciously.

"Ken, I know that—ahh Captain Dobey has already told you about the Latrielle trying to work with us on busting up the I.C.N.'s West Coast operation."

"One the Latrielles helped to build," he said firmly while he watched her slide out a tape recorder and place it in front of him.

His eyebrows met in questioning outrage. _"What is this?" _

"Look Ken—I understand why you and Dave turned refused the job of bringing her in. Nobody can fault you guys for turning down the assignment. I'm just here to ask you a few questions… about…her—_about Sonora."_

"What!"

"Ken – we need to know who and what we're dealing with. I mean she's a complex personality and…"

He abruptly got up and moved away from her and the taping device she was asking him to speak his nightmares into.

She rose too. His sudden movement made the vision of the Ken Hutchinson she had crawled into bed to comfort flash before her and it made her heart skip a beat. Remembering how vulnerable he was then. And might still be.

But, August Moon had never refused a job before. She was an FBI agent through and through. Even though the Latrielle kidnapping a cop case had challenged her nerves of steel… That was then and this was now. She needed to convince Detective Hutchinson to convince David Starsky to take the job to escort the Mafia princess on her way in from the cold. So Sonora Latrielle could spill her guts on her mob buddies.

Agent Moon couldn't allow herself to be an emotional wimp—like the last time when she had accompanied David Starsky to rescue his partner.

After all, the man standing before her was a cop—yes, he was on the mend. She allowed herself to believe his well-rested appearance made it all OK.

The FBI's psychiatrists had worked with her. Giving her all the ammunition she needed to get Ken Hutchinson to go along—to do his job. Agree to Sonora Latrielle's demands. It was the only way.

"I… " She stumbled and straightened her shoulders. Recovered, August continued; "I just need a little bit of _background_ about her. As an officer of the law—it's worth gold--the stuff you've seen, _heard_. I'm sure you would agree how much it could help this case. Information-- that's all I need," she assured him. "Heck, we've slept in the same bed together. Can't you help a girl out? This case is impossible to handle on my own. I'm just in over my head here."

Hutch, remembering the night she had comforted him, relaxed a bit. She took advantage of the moment and moved in to give him another hug. "God, I'm so glad to see you doing well," she said softly. "Just some questions. OK?" She leaned back to smile at him.

He sucked his teeth and stalled. "Fine," Hutch said flatly. "Just questions."

Her stomach turned.

Powerful folks-- her bosses, DA's, mayors, senators and governors were hoping to parade the arrest and conviction of the nearly untouchable seven major crime families in front of their adoring public. All the good press would flood the Bureau with more money, and pile up votes for any politician lucky enough to associate their name as participants in the monumental investigations leading to conviction of such major criminals.

None of them really had expected Hutch, after what he'd gone through—and definitely not Starsky - to jump on the bandwagon. Not without some coercion—manipulation. A little mind bending. Not with chemicals. Just the power of words. Dig up some memories for Hutchinson of the twisted affair and the shrinks at the FBI guaranteed a positive outcome. He'd sign up for the job and David Starsky would go along for the ride.

If August did her job right that afternoon--unresolved feelings and remnants of his brainwashing would float up from under the waters and soon enough he'd want to— he'd _have to_ see her.

It all had to be innocently packaged in the ruse of the Bureau accepting their refusal to cooperate.

So August had been assigned to strike while the iron was hot…

So she was striking – and feeling a bit green. August Moon had guzzled down three cups of coffee for courage to go through with the deception.

Trying to measure it all. One man's well-being _or_ the conviction of close to 50 men responsible for a total of nearly 100 recorded murders. Men responsible for delivering thousands of kilos of hardcore drugs to the streets of many urban and small towns. Extortion, armed robbery, prostitution of underage teens unable to protect themselves-- and on and on. Serious crimes against humanity.

Yes, the Latrielle case involving the two Bay City police sergeants had messed with her terribly. She'd spent the first month home crying at the drop of a hat. Had to call in sick on a handful of days after Starsky had called her to tell her that Ken might die.

But now she had her analytical legs back under her. This was about the greater good.

The lesson she had learned time and time again at the Bureau.

Agent Moon had a job to do today.

She swallowed back the bitter acid of the barely digested caffeine. "Are you… _afraid to talk about it?"_ she asked carefully.

He raised his head at her question. "No." He answered much too quickly. Just as she'd been told he would. Now she knew what question to ask next.

"_Why do you think she's asking for you to bring her in?"_

Hutch shook his head and shrugged. "What _point_ are you trying to make?"

"_Can't we get something on tape?_ My bosses will freak if I don't bring them something. Please?" She pointed for him to sit and tipped her head in encouragement.

He acquiesced and hesitantly sat.

She did too.

"Look, I just want to get some insight into how she ticks… They're bringing me in on this and I need to know all about her habits and such. You know like, ahh – is she a morning or a night person? Allergies, she a light sleeper? Tell me a few things about her? Her personal habits. It's all gonna be used in her profile so they know how to deal with her."

While she was talking, she took out a large white envelope. FBI Agent Moon started removing pictures from it and laid them across the table in front of them.

Pictures of Sonora.

She sat back and waited for the expected effect they would have on Hutch.

His stupefied gaze traveled over the array of photos of the woman he'd believed to be his wife.

"Umm..." His sentence went unfinished as his eyes widened. He reached out slowly, picking up one of the pictures. A large, colorful photo of him and Sonora. Sonora beautiful and barefoot. In a summer dress, laughing as she peeked out from behind him—her arms around his waist. He had a broad, toothy grin on his face and his eyes were sparkling.

"Morning," he said softly.

"Sorry?"

"She's, ah – a morning person. She…likes to get up with the sun." His voice sounded thin and strange.

"Ken. Do you think she's sorry about what she did to you?" Another question to remove another inch of his resistance.

"No." He swallowed hard. "She'd have to a have heart to feel. Right?" he said ruefully.

August had expected the bitterness- there were many more layers to go before she would find his feelings of love for the woman who had manipulated him into matrimony.

The three cups of coffee in her stomach revolted-- threatening to come back up. But Agent Moon ignored the nausea and went about the business of dismantling Ken Hutchinson's defenses.

**-osOso-**

Starsky, fuming, had taken refuge in his beloved Torino.

Gripping the steering wheel in his hands he knew he was too angry to drive and incapable of leaving Hutch behind to deal with the FBI's handpicked henchman – or should he say hench_woman_ on his own. August Moon's betrayal was like a knife to the gut in a dark alley. Unseen, coming out of no where and cutting deep.

What am I gonna do? He muttered over and over again.

He was angry and scared. The combined emotions nearly shaking him in his seat. Should he take Hutch and run? Hide? Quit? Where could they go? NY? Or Minneapolis?—or back to the woods? What had they done to deserve the wrath of God? To have the twelve plagues that were Sonora Latrielle rain down on their lives?

The woods--that would be good. He'd call Jay and ask him to set them up somewhere. Or Huggy could find a place for them to disappear to.

Starsky banged a palm into the dashboard and growled out curses.

If Sonora had appeared before him at that moment—he couldn't later explain to a jury his actions. But he was certain he would feel justified and happily accept whatever sentence they gave him.

Things were about to get ugly. Real ugly.

A tidal wave of misfortune coming and he was powerless to stop what was bound to happen now--or happen later. Because their business with Sonora Latrielle was unfinished. He had known it was going to come, but hadn't expected it so soon.

Starsky had done all he could to be prepared for it.

So if she wanted to bring it—he'd show a thing or two about how two Bay City police sergeants could kick some ass. If she thought Hutch was some chump she could play like a fiddle, she didn't know anything about who Detective Ken Hutchinson was… and she certainly didn't know anything about David Starsky. He'd learned to fight dirty on the mean streets of NY. If she wanted a fight…he'd give her one she'd never forget.

He growled again. A war cry.

Then he counted to 100. A trick his mother had taught him as a young boy to prevent his hair-triggered temper from getting him into trouble in the rough Brooklyn neighborhood he was raised in.

He had to think….not lose it. Not now…

Worst case?

Hutch would go it alone and try to rescue her.

No way that was gonna happen.

Another one of Starsky's groans filled the car.

"_Damn it. Damn it. Damn it_." He pounded a fist into the dashboard and started the 100 countdown again.

When he finished, he breathed in as much air as possible through his nose

and let it out through barely opened lips.

"Okay…okay, Starsky…that's enough." he coached himself.

Alright. What did they need? He started an inventory. Guns. They'd need a small armory. An unmarked vehicle… supplies for the road…

He shook off his frustration. Trying to clear his head… What else? What else? Maps and…road stuff…spare tires, flashlight, money…

"Let's just get this over with Latrielle," he challenged her out loud.

Sonora wanted a standoff— wanted another shot at his partner--and Starsky wanted an end to her reign of terror.

"Oh…Hutch," he sighed. He raised a fist to his mouth, unconsciously biting into the soft skin.

Nonperishable food--just in case they got holed up somewhere. There'd be an army of hit-men trying to take out Sonora before she could give up the names of her cohorts in crime.

Would that be so bad, he thought cruelly. A hit on Sonora would put an end to all this trouble.

He hung his head at giving into the thought. He was above that kind of thinking. He was a cop.

Ultimately he'd have to protect the she-devil like any other slime they had had to cover for.

Starsky couldn't change destiny. This_ thing_--- had to run its course. Burn out like a killer comet falling to earth. Maybe…it would all end with Sonora taking a bullet to silence her. Maybe… it would end with her taking a new identity and vanishing like a snake slithering under the earth.

Either way she'd be gone. And that's what would be best for him and Hutch.

They could both go back to livin' regular – without the fear of her jumping out from a shadow.

August was upstairs in Metro recruiting Hutch to fill the FBI's bloodlust for glory.

So…

All Starsky could do was what he always did. What he would always do. Be there to protect the man who was his partner in law enforcement and his brother in blood and spirit.

If he had to battle Sonora, August Moon…the whole damn Bureau. _**The world**_**,** for that matter. He'd show all of them all a thing or two about how serious he took that devotion to Hutch.

Starsky loosened his grip on the steering wheel and slumped back into the familiar embrace of the Torino's black leather.

Humph. Him and Hutch…they would kick…all their butts.

Like his partner had once declared.

_They_ didn't know who they were messing with.

**(tbc)**


	8. Chapter 8

** I want to thank again the people who have been so kind to donate their time and energy to read over, correct, suggest changes, offer encouragement and support. I don't know if folks realize how much work goes into putting these stories together--yes, it's fun, but it's hard work. Thank goodness I have such a crew of dedicated friends to help me. Robbin, Sarah, Karen, Jen I'm so grateful to have you in my corner. **

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 8**

Vehemence—that was Starsky's observation. It was what he saw on his partner's face. He knew what it was–because he'd seen the look before. One Hutch reserved for the most vile; child molesters, sadistic murders, drug dealers and such. A disgust so intense, a person who didn't know him would have to think he'd flipped a switch to near insanity. The muscles in Hutch's jaw steeled to entrap the verbal lashing he was trying to reign in. His accusing eyes—cold, blue stone. Starsky was thinking just maybe he had been wrong to fear that Hutch might not be able to control his feelings for her. That he might see her and lose his bearings…immediately turn weak in the knees and in his spirit. Fall into her arms like a long lost love.

But Hutch's imposing stance and that look on his face as he stared Sonora down-- their first meeting since…well since _then_-- was proving him wrong. And Starsky admittedly was loving the fire that blazed off his blond partner—burning up any chance of a loving reunion between him and Sonora Latrielle.

Starsky raised a hand to hide the smirk-laced grin on his face.

There she stood, the woman on the run, on the side of the road like yesterday's trash. Rumpled and pitiful. The dethroned queen. Even the bouncy curls on her head were downtrodden and dull from roadside shop cheap shampoo—no longer flaunting their ebony beauty. Mascara smeared on eyelids didn't compliment; it was the only make-up left on the once healthily glowing, tawny skin. She wore an unchic floppy hat that partially covered her face. Quite different from the stylish sophisticate who'd partied with the rich and graced the society pages. But it certainly was the woman who had run a stampede through his and Hutch's lives. Starsky couldn't ask God to forgive him for how much pleasure her downfall was giving him. Not today, probably never…would he ever ask to be forgiven for his disdain for her.

No one said anything. A stinging, chilly mist on its way to a downpour—floated in the air. August stood closest to the female gangster/ informant and Starsky guardedly by Hutch's side.

It started to rain.

"_Well, look what somebody dumped on the side of the road, Starsk."_ Breaking the silence, the confidence and power in Hutch's voice was a surprise to them all.

"Humph," Starsky grunted. _Banter?_ He didn't have the stomach for it. Seeing her was making his blood boil. He had to blink away the raindrops on his lashes and the film of his own internal heat clouding his vision. He wanted to puke, too. Finally, Sonora Latrielle: she'd made a deal to avoid prosecution for what she'd done to Hutch and to him. For crimes against all humanity. Starsky clenched a fist—he couldn't help but shoot a hard look to August.

The FBI agent who had screwed them over frowned back. "Guys," she announced, "…we need to make a move."

The only move made was Hutch's predatory step closer to the woman who was now supposed to be under their protection.

Hutch was staring her down as he snarled out another offside comment to Starsky. Eying her bag, he said, "_Hey_, Starsk, doesn't look like she packed her ahh, _'weapon of opportunity. _You know the one…" Hutch hadn't had a headache in weeks, he appeared healthy. His recently added bulk gave him a menacing presence.

The reference to the hardwood staff that Sonora had used to bruise and batter Hutch's body made Starsky swallow hard to find his voice. Hutch needed this… a few minutes of blatant payback and intimidation. As a friend he was obligated. "Think she said it was… _a bokken_…or a _jo_…" He remembered very well the little history lesson of the weapon Sonora had mockingly spewed out to them back in that dungeon. Almost word for word. He was sure Hutch did, too.

"Yeah… _English quarter-stick…one made special just for her…with three blades…" _Hutch's hand rose to the exact spot on his chest were she had scarred him.

Sonora's eyes darted away from the man she had nearly ruined. Looking to Starsky and then to August as if to question her own safety.

Strong emotions worked the features of Hutch's face and the tension of the moment stretched dangerously. The wind picking up sent his long hair flying about in angry protest.

"_Buddy?"_ Starsky interceded, his voice softened to a whisper as he touched Hutch's arm.

Some of the tense jaw clenching slacked off and Hutch answered without speaking a word. His head turned slightly in Starsky's direction but kept the object of disdain under intense consternation.

"We better think about hitting the road—we're out in the open here," Starsky reminded him.

"Yeah, in a minute." Hutch moved in a flash, roughly grabbing Sonora's arm, dragging her a few feet away. Pinning her down with an acid-filled glare, he pointed a finger in her face, then balled them all up into a fist.

His attacking words forced through gritted teeth, "I don't know _what_ you think is gonna happen by pulling me and Detective Sergeant Starsky into this…"

She opened her mouth, like she would respond --earning her another threatening digit, raising up to stop her. "_I'm _doin the talkin—_if you know __what's good for you_---you'll keep yours shut. I'm here as_ a cop." _He ground out the words for emphasis. "Whatever _sick fantasies _yougot in your head—keep 'em to yourself. There're nofondmemories—no untapped desires. I'm through with you!" He leaned into her to say, "_If_ it was up to me I'd just as soon walk you right up to a prison cell and throw away the key. Me and my partner--- we're done playing games. _You understand?" _

The pathetic and exhausted woman nodded, her wide eyes glazed over and the wetness in them rushed down her cheeks.

Hutch shook his head at Sonora, giving her a inconsiderate grin, his volume rising. _"Excellent_. Two minutes in. I know _all_ about your crocodile tears. So you save them for your grand jury testimony… when you spill your guts about all your mob friends. Maybe they'll buy it!"

"_Hutch_," Starsky called over to him.

"Right," Hutch answered tersely.

He pulled her closer. Disrespecting the intimate space they had once shared. He leaned down to speak into her ear. "_If _you…if you think I won't…" He glanced over to his two companions before continuing, "…if you put either one of their lives in jeopardy, God help you. I _will_ do _whatever--_ _I have to do."_

His icy stare made the implication clear.

**-sOs-**

In taking this assignment Hutch had to ask himself the question. If it came down to it--If it came down to Starsky's life? Could he do it? Could he pull the trigger and bring an end to the Latrielle dynasty? Permanently. Take the life—**kill** the woman who had been his _wife_—in all aspects of the word.

If he could answer that question with an unequivocal **yes**, under any circumstances, if he could take her down without consideration… then his partner's life would never have to be in extreme danger.

Hutch had looked at it from all sides, and once he'd reconciled that fact, he knew he couldn't run from taking the job—or from Sonora. Not when there were so many bad guys who were gonna be put out of business. So, he had done what any good cop would have – pled with his with partner to take the assignment.

And his partner, trusting him, believing in him, agreed.

Starsky was one helluva of guy. One helluva of a best friend.

And that was why they were standing in the rain, while Hutch made sure Zak's kid had it straight.

_If_-- Sonora ever made a threatening move on his partner, Hutch would take her down just like any other criminal who presented a threat to his partner's life. And he had to make sure that the Mafia princess soon to be federal witness had a clear understanding of that truth.

To save Starsky's life…

Memories of holding her trembling body still vividly intact. Skin to skin. Damp from sweat, her heart exuberantly beating her pleasure into his.

…he _would_ do it… plain and simple.

The message got through. The fright in her face verified its delivery.

Hutch kept the frost in his eyes while they stared at each other. Sniffling through the tears she was holding back, Sonora nodded her understanding.

"My point _is_…" He gave her a slightly maniacal grin, "—just in case you didn't get it the first time around---_that guy over there_," Hutch threw a thumb at Starsky, "-- my partner. Not only would I die to save his life—I'd kill to save it, too."

He evil-eyed her and Sonora shrunk inward, pulling together her coat against the elements and his wrath.

Hutch took hold of her by the elbow, nearly lifting her up like a child's rag doll. The bedraggled woman stumbled over her feet as he dragged her to where Starsky and August stood waiting.

"_Let's go_." He barked, depositing her back next to August. Hutch stalked toward the police issued, dark-blue late model vehicle they were going to be traveling in. Slightly beat up and innocuous-looking enough to not draw much attention, the vehicle was a behemoth of metal.

As if on cue, they were assaulted by torrential rain. The cops moved quickly to the car, abandoning Sonora to attend to her own bags.

"We're _leaving_!" Hutch shouted to her with marked cruelty. They all watched her struggle to haul the cumbersome luggage in the downpour.

"Thirty seconds! We're pulling out!" he taunted. "If you're in the car, fine!" he announced gruffly as he got in the passenger seat, slamming the door loudly.

She struggled to pull the three large bags forward. Slipping in the mud, she fell face forward into it.

Starsky ducked his head to mask a chuckle and jumped in the driver's seat.

The now muddy woman, grunting in disgust and frustration, managed to get one bag in the car just as Starsky revved up the powerful engine. August matched Sonora's motion to leap into the back seat, seconds before Starsky moved the car into gear, driving it onto the road. Leaving behind two pieces of the designer luggage and its contents for some lucky soul.

There wasn't much left to be said. They drove in silence. Each one dealing with their own demons.

August—her betrayal.

Sonora, wet and covered in mud – but more than her current discomfort, writhing inside from her fall from royalty to two-bit snitch and Hutch's declaration of the disdain he had for her.

Hutch, spending every second trying to keep his burgeoning rage for the woman in the backseat in check.

…and Starsky.

Who kept one eye of concern drifting over to his sullen partner. _Was he okay? _

Starsky slipped his right hand away from the wheel, discreetly bringing it to rest on Hutch's thigh. His partner kept eyes on the road ahead, but Starsky knew Hutch appreciated the subtle expression and smiled to himself. He was proud of the way Hutch had dealt with Sonora and, just maybe, Starsky thought, this assignment was exactly the medicine his best friend needed.

**-oSo-**

There was a destination.

The place where Sonora would be handed over to her interrogators. Expert federal prosecutors and such, who would spend days—_months_ - soliciting every piece of corroborating evidence she'd regurgitate. Some administrative clerk would transcribe the recorded tapes of her deposition. Filing boxes and crates full of the crime stories that would make some cringe and others relish the height, length, and depth of the criminal network that had been a menace to society.

The FBI's plan was to hold the exact location secret until hours before the hand-off of their human cargo. August would call in each morning and she'd be given the coordinates of the miles the group was to travel that day – their journey parceled out like pieces of a gigantic puzzle.

Presently they were in some less-than-five thousand-populated city in the middle of nowhere—in the Midwest. _Big country_. Starsky had groaned when he saw where they were headed. He hated everything about the backwoodsiness of the journey. Dusty two-lane routes and highway. One forgetful town after the next. But it was less likely that anyone could just sneak up on them. If they did their jobs—kept their wits about them—then they could see them. Any hit squad coming. And yeah, there was no doubt -- there were details of mob hit-men desperately trying to get to Sonora before she got to tell all she knew.

One week. That's all they had to get through. Drive around for 6 days. Then, August would be handed off the coordinates to the exact location The FBI would do their pick up. Only two hours to get there and if they didn't make it in two, Hutch, Starsky, and August would have to keep their _cargo_ and they'd have to start the whole process all over. On the run for another week and then attempt the Sonora hand-off again.

Espionage—at its worst. A completely ridiculous complicated, crappy plan. The kind government cops loved to string together to make themselves feel like big shots. And Starsky had told them so. August's boss, a real dick wad in Starsky's opinion, had met them one night under a dim streetlight. Hutch, playing it strong and silent, had studied the barrel-chested FBI superior with quiet impatience, while Starsky had ranted, spit, and cursed the heinous nature of the over- manipulated operation.

Dobey's huge scowl had represented his objection to the proposed coordinated effort to bring in Sonora. "_Leo,_" he said, calling the FBI big boss, who was dangling a stub of cigar in a corner of the mouth, by his first name served to show Dobey's lack of respect for him. "Where did you get this hide and seek crap from? A Cracker Jack box!You got my boys runnin' like chickens with their heads cut off. Pick a place and a time and call it quits. This stinks of a foul-up, big time!" he growled.

"Look," Leo McNamara shared, "We're taking every precaution. You guys forgettin' about the slip-up last year when Sonora got wind of Detectives Hutchinson and Starsky infiltrating her organization? You wanna repeat of that mess? I been called a lot of names in my time – made a few mistakes other people had to pay the price for. Every man in law enforcement knows the risks. Fine--you guys wanta think I'm incompetent—but I don't make the same mistake twice. Now I know someone at the Bureau—some low-level jerk or agent with years and a rusty badge-- musta sold them down the river. S_omebody's_ hands got greased and gave up your men."

The admission put the tall muscular, red-haired man under harsh scrutiny. Dobey, Hutch, and Starsky each assailing him with a look of disgust.

"Ok," the agent nodded his acceptance of their judgment of him. "I'm not about to let that happen again. The people I'm bringing in on this are my trusted circle—that's it. Less people involved means I don't have the benefit of the resources to pull something together as quickly. Anyone who's not in that circle ain't gonna know about the hand-off spot until a few hours before. That means the bad guys ain't gonna have any time to put together a coordinated attack. Me and August Moon are the only ones who'll know where you are and I'm gonna be holed up in a special war room until this thing is finished. No mistakes--guarantees the lives of your men Captain Dobey, and Sonora Latrielle's life too."

The men listening didn't miss the agent's attempt to build some trust by showing Harold Dobey respect in his use of the BCPD superior's title.

Starsky, defused and sullen, pulled Hutch aside to talk.

They had exchanged a few necessary words of solidarity and decided to go along with it. _But_—Starsky clarified and threatened-- "You guys screw us over this time and _God help you_."

They left the FBI guy standing alone, his face awash in the flickering mellow yellow of the street light and the darkness of the night.

**-osOso-**

Starsky pointed to the left and the other three travelers followed him to the sunny corner booth.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" Receiving a _no_ in response, August directed Sonora to sit on the inside then joined her, taking her position as the woman's permanent chaperone.

Starsky moved in to sit across from Sonora and Hutch across from August.

They all ordered coffee. The diner looked like any other. Nothing special, except for the fact that the place was sparkling clean. Recently polished stainless steel and streak-free glass spoke of its cleanliness. Starsky turned over the heavy silverware several times for his own entertainment. There wasn't going to be a lot of conversation. Not between him and August. And certainly none between Sonora and Hutch— reminiscing _– hey remember when we were married?_ He chuckled to himself at the thought and Hutch gave him a non-descript sideways glance. Starsky turned his inner conversation back to August.

How would Hutch like it? To know that both women sitting across from him had done him wrong? That August's ambition and career took precedence—neatly dismissing any kinship they had forged just months earlier when she had so whole–heartedly joined the search to find him. That she was a Benedict Arnold. A Judas. What had August once called Sonora? … '_She's a-a, a_ _blood sucking nightmare in heels!' _Well it looked like the description didn't fall far from the tree, he thought sarcastically.

But no matter what, he couldn't share with Hutch how the FBI agent who they had become so close to had used some mind games of her own to manipulate his participation in this mess. _Mess_-- there wasn't a better word for it. The very fact the people sitting face to face in the diner booth couldn't engage in the normal dinner conversation was proof of that. Sonora, Vanessa, Gillian, Diana… _Oh no_—no way did Hutch need to know that he should add August Moon to that list of women who'd done him wrong.

Starsky decided to keep a secret. Maybe they could get through the whole stinking assignment and Hutch would never have to know anything about August's betrayal. Afterwards, everyone could go their separate ways. Sonora Latrielle would take her new identity and go underground. August, probably getting a promotion, back to her flourishing career as a grunt for the FBI. And him and Hutch back to livin' life as it was supposed to be. Being partners and friends. All this-- this nightmare-- behind them. Starsky'd never mention either woman's name again. That was a plan he could live with.

They had finished the meal in near silence. Sonora had salad, no surprise there. August had a ribeye steak dinner—which she barely ate. Starsky had meatloaf and potatoes and Hutch, still eating out of character, ordered the joint's specialty –'_the cook's Colossal Double-Cheeseburger Platter-- grilled to perfection and topped pile high with crispy bacon and beer battered onion rings, served with fresh-cut fries and creamy-style coleslaw_.'

While Starsky appreciated that his partner had gained his weight back—he didn't like that most of that gain came from the greasy foods that Hutch in the past had scolded him about eating. At the present, the extra bulk gave Hutch a more intimidating stature but, Starsky wondered, if his partner kept up eating like that if he would soon have to put the guy on a diet.

It was what came with the check that just might have lightened the somber mood of the people at the table. A plate of complimentary Italian cookies. Each person sitting in the booth took interest in the small feast and one by one they took a turn. Picking out a cookie that appealed to their sweet tooth.

All hopes of any camaraderie/civility forming in the group ended when Hutch made his move to slip one of the tiny treasures from the mound. Starsky swiftly reached out to hold back his friend's hand. "Hey! _What a ya doin'?_ You're 'lergic to almonds, _Member I told ya?_" he offered gently.

Hutch eased back his hand. Momentarily lost in thought, he sat, motionless. Blinking his way back to reality he found, all eyes at the table were studying him. His response-- the blond-haired man quickly rose to his feet and exited. Starsky glaring a dirty stare at a stunned Sonora, slid his body out of the booth. Pulling out his wallet, he gave a cursory glance at the bills he threw down at the table and followed after his partner.

He found him hunched over the Torino, his rigid arms pressing palms into the roof of their car.

"_You okay?"_

Hutch sighed in frustration, not moving to face him as he answered. "I'm tired of needing a road map for my own life. _You know?"_ He turned to look into Starsky's face. "Makes me feel…" he couldn't even verbalize it.

"I know." Starsky told him.

Pushing himself away from the car, he asked, "Aren't you tired of takin' care of me yet?"

"Nope."

The women were making their way to the car and Starsky patted his arm. "C'mon, let's hit the road."

Hutch silently agreed and got into the vehicle.

**-osOso-**

Highly irritated, Starsky rubbed a forearm at the fog on the windshield. It was pouring -_again_. The rain was getting on his nerves, forcing them to sit behind rolled-up windows.

The air, stale from the mustiness of the used vehicle and from the strained relations of the people inside it.. He had flipped on the radio miles back to serve as some distraction from having to drive in such horrible weather.

Hutch said something and not clearly hearing it, Starsky had responded with an "Uh-huh." To be polite. But he was too distracted to ask him what he'd said. When Hutch hadn't repeated it, Starsky was sure he had gotten by with the quick come back.

Of course, it would have been better if Starsky had asked his friend to repeat the sentence. Hutch, mumbling, had wondered if maybe he should take something for his headache. One the last sentences he'd be speaking that evening that made any sense.

About a half hour later Starsky saw Hutch's head drop into his hands.

"Shit!" Starsky cursed. _"Hutch?"_

The sound of his voice stirred August and Sonora awake. And they both sat up in the backseat to see what had caused the ruckus.

"Sssround a c—c-cornr…Ohh." Hutch said.

"Damn it." Starsky growled as he brought the car to a halt. He dug around frantically inside his jacket.

"What's going on?" August asked him.

"I had em. Right here." Starsky continued searching through his pockets.

"D-dd-on't haf-ta g—g-go that far…out." Hutch stuttered.

"Hold on partner."

"_What's going on?"_ August demanded to know.

"Anybody see a pill bottle?" He yelled back to August. Then to himself, "Where is it? What did I do with it?"

"_A what?"_

"Pills, a prescription bottle! He needs 'em now!" Starsky bellowed at them. "Just look back there will ya?"

"C-can't d-do it-t." Hutch groaned out loud and Starsky stopped his frantic search to tell him. "I'm gonna help ya, partn'r. Kay?" He ran a hand over his partner's hair. "Gonna help ya."

"I don't see anything back here." August said.

"Me, either." Sonora offered. "What's wrong with him?" she asked, earning her a harsh stare from Starsky.

"Cluster Headache. Something you and your doc can take credit for." He snapped roughly. "They leave him hurtin' pretty bad." Forgetting her, he turned his attention back to Hutch. "Can you hear me, babe? Where did you put your medicine?" he asked, hoping for an answer that made perfect sense.

"Sinn thrrr..." Hutch attempted his answer.

"Where partner? I can't find my bottle. Where?" he said gently as he rubbed a hand back and forth over Hutch's neck. "Can you tell me again? Huh? Where is it?"

"Awww..." Hutch pushed his body forward, bracing himself against the dashboard.

"I know, buddy. Tell me again." Starsky pleaded and then spoke to the women in the car. "I always keep 'em on me--but he hasn't had one of these headaches in weeks…and I…lost 'em," he said with self-recrimination.

"Stress." August interrupted with a suggestion of the cause.

"_You think?"_ Starsky barked back.

Hutch grappled at Starsky's shirt and said to him, "Shaaa-kit." He moaned again, pushing the heel of a palm against the pain.

"Shake it?" Starsky bent his head low to question his friend and then looked in the backseat for help. "_Shake it?"_ he said again, asking August and Sonora for their input.

"Shake it." August repeated, as she thought about the word.

"_Hutch?"_ Starsky softly pleaded for more information.

"Shh-aa-kkk i-it." Hutch forced out through gritted teeth.

Starsky shook his head in frustration.

"Shake it." Sonora said.

"Yeah, I got that!" Starsky growled.

"Wait," the tiny woman moved forward in her seat, "I got it! "Shave kit!" she announced, sounding excited at being able to offer some assistance.

"Right!" Starsky leaped from the car to search through their luggage in the trunk.

He jumped back in the car drenched from the torrential rain outside. The pill bottle in possession, he struggled to open it with his wet hands.

Hutch's teeth chattered as his body trembled from the increasing pain in his head.

August grabbed the bottle and flipped off the top. Starsky gratefully held out his hand and she delivered several pills into it.

"Something to drink?" He asked into the air, and Sonora handed over her take-out cup filled with black tea.

"Here, buddy," Starsky coached. "Got 'm. Here you go."

Once again, Starsky fed his partner his pills.

Everybody in the car was anxious as they waited for Hutch to receive the relief of pain.

The rain pelting down on the car angrily pinged off the windshield, joining in the strange symphony of Starsky's soft comforting voice and Hutch's haunting low moans, until finally there were no more hitches in Hutch's breathing and he was quiet.

Starsky sighed "S'alright now," he told them, as he kept massaging his partner's neck. "He's gonna be knocked out in awhile. I need to get him inside somewhere."

"We passed a sign for a motel about a few miles back." August said.

"Alright," Starsky answered, keeping a hand rubbing comfort into his friend.

Hutch muttered, "M'sorry, Starsk…"

"Hey, not your fault, buddy," Starsky answered. "We know who's to blame."

The accusation stung a wide-eyed Sonora. Guilt overtook her expression and she slumped back into her seat.

"Few miles, _you sure_?"

"Yes." August answered.

"He's gonna be out for hours. No sense him sleeping cramped up in the car." Starsky stated.

She nodded in agreement and Starsky settled back behind the wheel. Starting the car, he did a U-turn to head them back to the nearest bed for his partner to spend the night in.

**(tbc) **


	9. Chapter 9

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 9  
****  
**  
The small room had two full beds. The desk clerk didn't understand why they had refused the pair of adjoining rooms. The man with dark hair, a grim expression and few words, traveling with two women, said; "We'll take the double." The women didn't look like they could be his sisters. The clerk knew enough to mind his own business. In all the years of working the midnight shift at the roadside motel, it wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen. So he just took the money. "Checkout's 11 a.m." were his final words to the small group before handing over the room key.

It was a miracle that Hutch had stayed conscious enough to assist Starsky and August to part carry, part walk him the few yards from the car to the bed closest to the door.

Starsky had carefully pulled off Hutch's jacket and shoes and unbuttoned his shirt to make him more comfortable. He felt up and down the legs of Hutch's pants to see how damp they were. A towel was retrieved from the bathroom and gingerly used to pat dry his friend's face and hair. Exhausted, Starsky dropped down on the bed, sitting close to Hutch's feet. He ran the towel over his own wet hair, and proceeded to take inventory of his partner's condition. Dark-blue eyes canvassed Hutch from head to toe. Finally satisfied his friend was okay, he reached out to give a soft touch to push down some unruly blond strands. It was only then did Starsky look up-- to find both women staring at him

Unfazed by their open-mouthed stares, he glanced down at his watch. "He's gonna sleep for…probably to late morning. So, you all might as well get settled in."

August cleared her throat to break the spell of watching the tenderly rendered care and answered, "Yeah." Then, speaking to Sonora, "We can share a bed. Dave, I'll do first watch."

"No. I just…I just wanna to make sure those pills do the job."

"Well, he looks like he's knocked out to me."

"Yeah. Probably," he answered, letting his gaze drift back to his sleeping partner.

"Well, don't know about anyone else. I need a shower," August announced, grabbing her travel bag and headed for the bathroom.

Sonora and Starsky were left alone.

The petite woman stood still, like some small woodland creature believing no movement would make them invisible. Her wet coat dripped onto the dingy-looking motel room carpet.

Starsky gave her a cursory once-over. "We don't need you catchin' pneumonia. Better put on sumpthin' dry." He went back to watching Hutch.

Sonora wearily removed the coat and finding a towel, set about drying her thick hair. After managing the change in clothing by hiding behind a closet door, she sat on a corner of the other bed.

Her furtive glances from Hutch to him pricked at his nerve. "Ya messed him up good," Starsky told her, keeping his eyes on his drugged friend. "But just so you know. You didn't beat him. He ain't no pushover. My partner's…"

"I wasn't trying…"

She had made the mistake of interrupting. And it was the spark to set him off. Starsky turned to face her. _"Save it, missy._ Don't pull that poor little rich girl routine on me. I know what you are. I was there--saw it all, with my own eyes. Maybe Hutch don't remember all of what you did in that dungeon of yours – but I do. You're a real sicko." His face was getting red and the veins in his neck constricted from his anger. "S'up to me, I'd leave you stranded out here; just might make the call myself to your old hit man pal Johnny Two's and whoever else is after you and tell them exactly where they could find ya." He stood and jutted out a finger to make his point, "But we got a job to do, and we'll do it. I'm warning ya though. I'm watching you. You make any moves on him and I just might make that call. _Ya got it?" _

"Detective. I do." She paused, before adding. "I know what I did to him. Do you think that I'm happy that I've ruined any chance we might have had…"

"_Chance?_" The word enraged him and Starsky did a mini-stalk over the short distance between them. "Chance!" He pulled Sonora to her feet, getting in her face. "That's some word coming from a woman who had to use torture to rip a guy's identity from under him to make him believe he loved ya. _No_, there's no _chance_. Hutch knows what you did to him and if—_if_ he was to ever forget it—I'd be right there to remind 'im!"

August re-entered the room just in time to hear the end of Starsky's ranting speech, meant to set Sonora straight.

"Let her go Dave," August told him.

Still angry, he whipped around. "Don't even," he barked. "You think you're much better than this one?" He waved a thumb at Sonora. "After the way you played Hutch, you must've had some cue cards from your people on how to get him to go along with this. Knowing if you got him--you got me. _Right?_ Isn't that exactly the way it went down?"

They hadn't talked about how the female officer of the law had wrangled Hutch into taking the assignment.

Sonora shrunk out of the way as Starsky moved to confront the FBI agent.

"Isn't it? Isn't that how it went down?" He demanded that she answer the charge he'd made.

"I had a job to do. Just like you've got one now." Her face showed little emotion.

"_No_- you're not getting out of answering the question that easy. Answer the question, _Agent Moon. _You set him up. _What?_ You can't deal with it, now? Can't ya just admit your part in this stinking mess of an assignment? You should be proud of what you did—probably get ya some stinking commendation when all is said and done. I just hope Hutch makes it through this in one piece…"

"Stop it," she yelled back.

Hutch stirred in the bed behind them and Starsky made a quick move back to him.

Hutch, reacting to the loud voices in the room, was trying to open his eyes.

"Uh-uh. Every things cool, partner… go back to sleep," Starsky softly comforted him, squeezing reassurance into one of Hutch's arms. "You rest."

Hutch stared back at him through slitted eyes. "Wa-what's…wr…ong."

"Nuthin…nuthin. Go to sleep." Starsky said smoothly, leaning over to show Hutch a half smile. "We're talking too loud, is all."

"Wake me..." Hutch mumbled, sluggishly reaching out to him.

Starsky took the hand in his and gently placed it back on the bed, "I will. Go back to sleep," he ordered, and Hutch slumberously rolled over onto his side, immediately falling back to sleep.

The heat returned to his expression as he looked at August. "If anything happens to him, I swear, you--your bosses-- ain't gonna get off so easy this time. Hear me?" It was a threat.

"I hear you," she said. "But I need to know. Can we work together on this or what? We've only got each other out here. Can I count on you--or are you gonna be so angry you can't see things straight?"

"I'll handle it," he spat out. He glanced down to see if he had disturbed Hutch again and then said quietly, "I just want it on record." He swallowed down some of his wrath and told her. "Hutch and I know what's expected and we'll handle it."

He had calmed down and August went on, "What about tonight? Does this happen a lot?"

"No," Starsky answered tersely.

"I wish I had known about this before…"

"Would it have made a difference?" Starsky asked her bluntly.

They both knew the answer to that.

The powers that be would have juiced his partner with painkillers, opiates, street drugs if they had to. Anything to get him to agree to take the job. Anything to get at the information Sonora had promised to spill to them.

**-osOso-**

He was worried about his partner.

Starsky was carrying too much of the burden.

The waitress behind the counter read back, "You got your coffees and then, you got two bagels with cream cheese, one egg white omelet, and OK, ahh, then there's the fried egg sandwich with a double order of bacon with a side a sausage…"

"White toast." Hutch verified his order. "That's on white toast. Oh, Starsky, that omelette gonna do you?"

"C'mon, Hutch…_double order of bacon?" _Starsky said, expressing his utter disappointment in what his partner had ordered for his first meal of the day.

Hutch waved a dismissing hand at him.

"Look…I'm a growing boy." The words made Hutch's lips draw into a big smile, which made Starsky give him a scolding once over look and then a frown.

"Funny, real funny, boy." Starsky, still freaking over Hutch's breakfast order, called after the waitress on her way to the kitchen. "Hey…"

Hutch snatched his friend by the arm and directed him to sit. "Ahh…it's fine, Starsk. Come on, gotta talk to you 'bout something."

"Well, we were talking about something." Starsky still gazed in the direction of the kitchen, his frown deepening like it would somehow make the morning fry cook refuse, on principle, to make the horrendous sandwich Hutch had just requested. Baffled by his friends' current obsession with unhealthy eating, he shook his head with dissatisfaction

"Talk, Starsk." Hutch plainly stated what he wanted to do.

"Fine," Starsky answered, his attention going to the concern on Hutch's face. "What's wrong?"

"I'm worried about you." Hutch revealed.

"_What?"_

"I mean it, Starsky. You look beat and…"

"_Me?_ Have you taken a look at yourself in a mirror lately?" he asked sarcastically.

Hutch smiled again, broadly this time. And Starsky affectionately bumped his shoulder with his own. Lowering his voice, he said, "Seriously, Starsk. Maybe this whole thing was a big mistake. I-I don't know what I was trying to prove. Then draggin' you into it…"

"Hey-you didn't drag me and _you_ didn't go searchin' her out. She came lookin' for you, 'member, pal."

"Yeah. But…" He got closer to Starsky. "I didn't think about how hard this was gonna be-- on you. I mean Sonora--then the bad guys around any corner. You gotta be worried about me havin' your back--"

"_Whoa_. Where'd that come from?"

"Fine. Whatever." Hutch shrugged off his previous comment. "And what's the deal with you and August? Man, there's some serious hostility bouncing off the both of you."

"You noticed that?"

"Yeah…oh, so I'm blind now?" Hutch gave his friend a light punch.

Starsky scowled, and said, "Look, Hutch…" he shrugged, like he was having trouble putting something in the right words. It almost looked like he was trying not to tell Hutch a lie, but didn't want to tell him the truth either.

It made Hutch pay even closer attention to what he was about to hear. "I, ahh, I--_expected something more from her_." Starsky said, gingerly nodding his head in such a way as to stimulate Hutch's imagination.

Hutch was confused by the weird hint and then in realization, gave his partner an "OOHHHH," as he winked his understanding. "_You and August? _Didn't work out then, huh? How come I'm just hearing about this? And--where was I?"

"Look, can we just get back to that monstrosity of a breakfast you just ordered? _Double bacon --- side of sausage_. How come? Huh? I told you buddy, you're a cereal and fruit guy. Why can't you believe me?"

"Ok. Guess we're changing the subject, huh? Well partner, all I'm sayin' is why don't you show her a little bit more of that Starsky charm you claim the ladies can't resist."

Starsky gave him a mildly agreeable nod. "That what you want?"

"Sure. I just want you to stop stressing about…me…so much. _You know_?"

Starsky studied his partner silently. Apparently Hutch believed he had something to do with his bad mood of late. Starsky definitely didn't want him thinking it had anything to do with him. With a scant smile he told Hutch, "Sure. Buddy. More bees with honey."

Pleased that Starsky was going to make the effort to be nicer to August, Hutch chuckled. "That's it exactly..."

"That's gonna be eight dollars and fifty-seven cents." The waitress had returned.

Hutch made his way to the register. "I got it."

"Hey buddy – some fruit," Starsky suggested, woefully pointing to the basket of fruit on the counter.

Hutch frowned and Starsky gave him a goofy looking plea.

"Fine. Miss, can you throw in a _few pieces of fruit_." Hutch told her as he pulled some money from the wallet he had taken out of his back pocket.

She complied by tossing an orange and an apple into one of the brown bags and handed them off to Hutch. "Thanks," he said, giving her a tip and a smile. On their way out Starsky grabbed up two more apples—tossing some change on the counter as he followed Hutch out the door.

**-osOso-**

They were leaving.

Sonora and Hutch had just stepped outside the motel room when Starsky pulled August aside.

"He's askin' what's my beef with you."

Starsky thought she looked sad when she carefully asked, "Y-you told him?"

"No. Look, I'm not changin' my mind about what you did. But – when he's round we gotta play it cool. I don't want him…"

"...to be upset." She interjected.

There was some emotion bouncing off her that Starsky couldn't exactly pinpoint, but if he had to tag it, he'd say she sounded jealous.

"Something wrong with that?" he asked her.

"No--not really. But you know I gotta tell you, your partner's a big boy. Why you feel you have to protect him from every rock in the road. I mean--this thing between you two…"

"I'm not asking _you_ for no advice about how to treat a friend…"

She got his inference. "Is that what you mean about playing it cool?"

He cooled down. "Sorry," he mumbled to her." In a stronger voice he clarified, "But let's make one thing clear. I'm not ever gonna put the job before him. Understand?

"Yeah. That's clear."

He studied her face, interpreting the twinge of sarcasm in her voice. Yeah, it was jealousy. It wasn't the first time someone who had hung around him and Hutch had become envious of the close bond between help them. So August Moon was human after all. He would have teased her about it if he could forget how mad he was at her.

"_Well. You guys ready to make a move?_" Hutch's voice interrupted, calling to them from outside. He peeked his head into the room to give Starsky a smirk.

"Ready" August answered.

She left first and as Starsky walked by his friend, Hutch whispered, _"You two kiss and make up?" _

"Something like that," Starsky replied as he closed the door behind them.

**(tbc)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 10**

Eavesdropping, or else he might never have heard the truth.

Sonora was curled up into a bundle on one of the full-size beds, snoring lightly. He had fallen asleep too, on the couch of the small suite the four of them were sharing. Awoke to find Starsky and August gone. And he'd found them, hadn't he?

At first he thought he was witnessing an intimate moment. Moonlight

glowing down on a romantic rendezvous. And it had tickled him so much, he'd giggled like a mischievous ten year old and decided to sneak up on the both of them. The expectation of the straight-laced female FBI agent turning all shy and red-faced would be a sight for sure. Starsky would shoot him the evil eye for spoiling his fun. A great story for re-telling for years to come.

But as he moved closer, he could hear their voices. There was anger, accusation and malice in them. Not the love/hate dance of two people attracted to each other who didn't get along. The look on Starsky's face he was familiar with. Disgust. This was no lover's spat. His stomach and spirit sunk, goose bumps raced over his skin. Something bad was coming his way; he could feel it moving in on him. Hutch spent a few moments confused as his playful mood dissipated, to catch up with what was really going on. In those moments of processing the scene, he got to hear and see what the real problem was between Starsky and Agent Moon. What they had been fighting about all along.

His nausea was immediate. Rolling up in him like an angry thunderstorm.

But he swallowed it down and steadied himself. Watched Starsky grab her arm and spin her around to face him, then the agent pulling away from him, stomping back to the room. That was when Hutch, shocked to his core, slipped out of the shadows of the night to confront his friend.

The one who'd been lying to him. Betrayed him…like Van and Gillian, like Sonora… and now August. He knew what he had overheard but he wanted…_needed_ Starsky to tell him he had misunderstood it all. That he was being stupid; making dumb conclusions and if he felt like his world was falling apart then it was his own fault for misconstruing what he just saw and for sneaking around in the woods, listening to private conversations. He'd give his best friend a chance to make everything right, because what Hutch thought he'd heard was leftover delirium. A side effect of those pills Starsky kept shoving into him.

"I thought you and August had some personal issues—that's not what I just heard," Hutch said, his voice rough with emotion.

Starsky spun around, shocked to find that there had been a witness to the argument with August.

The proverbial and feral cat out of the bag, they exchanged a long stare, until Starsky dropped his head. Guilt was all over his expression when he looked back up and the words he spoke came out in a fragmented explanation. "Hutch… she's…she's _not…here_ to watch our backs…she's _here_… to protect the Bureau's interest. The info Latrielle owes 'em … that's all." Starsky's arms flew around in angry, haphazard circles as he blurted out the truth.

Hutch couldn't make himself believe it. Even though he had heard the fight about mixed loyalties and motives and August's accusations of Starsky's lack of ability to play nice. And he had just heard Starsky's confession. All of it made him mad, but still-- he didn't want to believe any of it. Couldn't take it inside himself, afraid it might destroy him.

No. August couldn't have done this, his heart tried to tell him.

There had to be more to the story. August had integrity and…it just couldn't have gone down like that. Not another betrayal. And Starsky kept it from him?

"What are you talkin' about? August risked her life to help me… help us…"

He sounded feeble, pathetic even, and his defense of her carried no weight. And Hutch felt weightless too. Like there was nothing left to him…nothing left in him…like he could float away like a bird's broken off feather or a dried up and crinkled leaf. Anything not to have this conversation with the man who he thought his brother. His right arm, who had his back even when it was up against the wall, his lone supporter against every enemy or attack.

Starsky was talking and Hutch tried to listen to him.

"Well, I don't know what happened to _that lady,_ but _this one's_ strictly here to cover their investment." Starsky took a few careful steps to close the gap between them before he continued. "She doesn't care about _you,_ _me_, _nothing _but the busts and how good it's gonna make her and her bosses look. _The pay off_," he qualified.

Devastated, he only shook his head in disagreement.

"No…it's true. She gave you up, Hutch." Starsky said plainly.

"What are you talking…August wouldn't…"

"_August_ was sent to us thoroughly trained on how to get _you_ to take the bait, partner. She used every psycho-babble trick in the book to make you let down your defenses, and ignore your gut instinct to stay out of this whole stinkin' mess."

"Uh-uh…she…" Hutch was thinking of running.

Starsky told it all; "Everything in her power to get you to say yes—she did it. Not thinkin' of your well-being—only about the convictions that would blow up her career and win some elections for the people backing this whole investigation."

His expression soured, the truth had stung him like a swarm of bees. Hutch's eyes got wet and his face flushed crimson.

"I'm sorry, buddy. Sorry I didn't tell ya right off," Starsky apologized.

The truth now accepted, Hutch's ire broke through. And the veins in his neck pulsed out the rise in his blood pressure. _"Sorry—you're sorry?" _he yelled back.

"Don't make more out of this," Starsky said quietly, trying to defuse the situation and Hutch.

"I can't believe you lied to me." Hutch shook his head in disdain. He tried but failed to hide his hurt, as he searched Starsky's face for an explanation. "_Why, Starsk_?"

Utterly lost for what to say next, Starsky looked down. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

"Forget it!" Hutch leaned over to shout into his face. Ready for a fight, his body took on a menacing stance.

Starsky reached out to touch his arm and Hutch jerked away.

"Hutch...I..."

"_What_? Tell me, Starsky. I'm right here. _Wait_-- first, buddy can you take this 'Kick Me' sign offa my back? It's really screwing things up for me. I mean…what the heck, _partn'_r. Why shouldn't you jump in with the rest of 'em?"

"I..."

"No! Don't talk!" Hutch blustered, taking a step back. Nearly rocking in his shoes, he spoke in an almost whisper. "This can't be happening…you too, Starsky." Then he pounced, grabbing at him with both hands, nearly lifting Starsky off the ground. "_How?_ How could you! Why? Why…you'd do this_? Why Starsky_?"

Starsky shook his head, pathetically searching for a way to explain it, "You gotta listen to me…"

"_OH_—I know---you had your reasons," he said with bitter sarcasm. Then, exploding, Hutch shoved him aside. He growled, "Wait, let me-- let me get this straight…"

"Hutch, let me tell you how it went…"

"No! _First_ August spins some web of deceit to draw me in and _then_—_**you**_—let me walk right into this trap. _Like some kinda dimwit_!"

"That's _not _what happened! _Look_, once she gotta chance to put the case before you _I knew_ I wasn't gonna be able to stop you. Why didya hafta know she wasn't playing on our team?"

He reached for Hutch again. "Get offa me!" Hutch yelled.

"Don't do this…Hutch. What could I do, huh? Tell you another person you trusted decided to screw ya over?"

"No!" Hutch said roughly, "… better you do the same? Hmm?" Angrily squinting back at him he asked, "_How can you expect me to ever trust you again?"_

Starsky grimaced like he'd been punched, but still moved forward. Wrenching Hutch to face him, his voice full of emotion and regret, "You can trust me."

"_No_. I can't." Hutch shook his head. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he fought back the tears that filled his eyes.

"You can trust me… _you know that_." Starsky stood his ground as he got eye to eye with his partner. "I didn't want her hurtin' you. That's all. It wasn't fair—you were just getting your legs back under you. You'd have done the same for me and you know it."

They stared at each other.

"You know I'd never do anything…" Starsky choked up.

Hutch softened his expression, letting his exhaustion and vulnerability show.

"You gonna let this go?" Starsky asked plainly and Hutch nodded his agreement.

Starsky was never the enemy…never.

"Sorry, this just isn't as easy as I thought…" Hutch sniffed.

"I know partner… She's gettin' to you. _Sonora?"_

Hutch didn't deny or confirm, because after all was said and done-- _maybe_ what was really upsetting him was the fact that Starsky was trusting him.

He had barely spoken a word to Sonora since the day they'd picked her up and he had read her the riot act. But truthfully, there was a lot of silent communication going on between them, and Hutch was just realizing he'd underestimated the evocative effect she had on him. He didn't want to have the silent exchanges. Even though he was an unwilling participant in the nonverbal conversations with the woman in their custody, he felt like a traitor to Starsky.

"Maybe I'm the one—can't be trusted," he confessed. Shamed by the admission, he hung his head.

Starsky sighed. "You and me," he said, "we got a problem—cuz we have job to do. Both of us, got distractions. And we gotta be careful 'bout that, partner."

"This stinks," Hutch declared.

Starsky grinned at the observation but Hutch didn't smile back.

"Just keep your eye on me. 'Kay?"

Hutch didn't bother to explain about how Sonora was trying to get to him.

**-sOs-**

It was her eyes on him that he was having trouble with.

She knew him. Some how in the middle of so many lies --so much betrayal – she looked at him like she knew his heart. And it was starting to disarm him.

Like earlier that morning.

Hutch watched slender fingers pick up the spoon to stir the sugar and squeeze lemon slices into the hot tea.

Starsky was saying something to him about how many miles they had traveled that day but his was attention kept being drawn to the woman in front of him.

She raised the spoon to her full, red lips and he felt something move inside him. Subtle. But there was a heightening of his awareness of her proximity to him. How close she was. His eyes drifted to her long, dark lashes. Her eyes were closed and then almost at his beckoning they opened and she looked up at him. Heat traveled through him and he bought up a hand to distractedly rub at the bare skin near his chest bone. Suddenly aware of the motion, he dropped his hand to his thigh. But she was watching him, too…silent and discreetly as August and Starsky discussed the next day's route.

What was she? A siren?

He had the strength to fight her off, he told himself. But somehow she was slipping past his defenses. He couldn't have that. He gave her a steely stare back. _I won't let you in_, it told her, confidently.

Could he hear her humming…that song? The same one she used to coo in his ear the mornings after a night of lovemaking, their bodies still entwined.

"What are you doing?" he asked, confronting her.

"Nothing." She answered.

Starsky looked up from the map—back and forth between them.

Then had announced. "That's a good route-lots of back roads, though. Hutch, whattdya think?"

"Lotta back roads, huh?" He answered, grateful for the interruption. "Guess that's a good thing. As long as we don't run into trouble out there."

Sonora had tried to catch his eyes again and he had blocked her entry, focusing instead on the business of drinking his coffee.

It was then Hutch realized there was trouble everywhere. That he was scared, and wished he and Starsky were far, far away from it all. Back in Bay City-- being cops, is where they belonged. Far away from Sonora and this mistake of an assignment.

**(tbc)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 11**

When she woke that morning, Hutch wasn't there.

A bleary-eyed Starsky, coughing roughly to clear his voice, nodded at the door and said to her, "He knows."

Still bundled up in dingy, hotel bed-linen, Sonora Latrielle. Her inquisitive gaze had gone from the agent to the detective —as if expecting to be let in on the current state of affairs.

"Mind your business," August snapped at her, while her stomach flip-flopped in nervous expectation of what was ahead of her. Facing Ken.

It felt like she was moving in slow motion. Not taking a shower, only washing her face and brushing her teeth. All the time feeling oddly disconnected; Sonora, watching her. And Starsky's back turned to her.

Cops and criminals living in close quarters. Keeping a low profile; staying in drab and dreary forgettable off-the-road motels to maintain anonymity and safety. While it guaranteed security, it also meant giving up all your personal boundaries. Everyone's movement an open book. Subject to microscopic study.

And so this assignment was more of the same old same old. Being a woman in a world of men generally meant you sucked it up and didn't go looking for accommodations and amenities. There was just getting the job done and doing it right. Keeping your complaints to yourself.

You ate what was convenient: stale food from vending machines and greasy hamburger joints, sleeping with the dirt of the road in your pores, hours of boredom behind the locked door of a roadside motel. Virtually living with strangers.

So, it was the four of them glued at the hip.

Sharing a room meant they never lost track of each other. The operation never compromised. Sonora got a bed and August took the other. Ken and Dave took turns sleeping upright; an uncomfortable night's rest in a thread-bare, upholstered chair, while the other spent the night staking out the room from the car.

People just didn't know the lengths cops went through to fight the good fight. To be officers of the law.

Ken would understand what she had done to get him to sign on to this case, August assured herself. She put on her jacket, readying to go outside to find him and remind him she was only doing her job.

She headed for the door, annoyed to find Sonora still watching her, and threw the mafia informant a dirty look.

Starsky had accused August of betraying him and Ken…of hurting Ken. Using him for her own benefit. Once he had even implied she was no better than Sonora.

But it wasn't the same thing, was it? What she had done was for the greater good.

So, why had she felt so lousy when she found Hutch that morning?

It seemed like no matter where you were, it was always freezing at six a.m.

Maybe it was the cold reception of the tall, blond man that was chilling August to the bone. Hutch was perched on a boulder several yards from the car where he probably spent a restless night.

His face wasn't blank. It was awash with dark emotions. Approaching him, all of a sudden August realized how hard it would be to speak to him face to face. Knowing she'd see his hurt, disappointment, anger and mistrust. But Agent Moon, who was good at reading people, was afraid she'd also see hatred and disgust.

As sure as August Moon was on how important being an FBI agent was to her -first and foremost, in fact- somehow on that damp and misty morn she was thinking that not having to hurt the man in front of her became far more significant.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

Sliding off the rock, standing to his fullness of height, Hutch gave her a cursory, "Sure." But he dug his hands into his pockets, hinting at his emotional unavailability. That she had lost his trust.

"Starsky… told you."

"Yeah…_Agent Moon_." The hardness in his voice reflected in the steely blueness of his eyes. And she had to look away from him.

"I can explain to you why I did it," she said, sounding not as confident as she wanted to.

"Well—doesn't matter now," he cut her off. "We're out here, now. What you did stinks. You don't know how much what you did hurt Starsky." He walked off and she chased after him.

"_Starsky?"_

"Yeah, _Starsky_! He had a lot of respect for you and the way you helped us out. And then you turn around and sell us down the river like this…"

"Ken…" He was taking big steps but she kept up with him as they headed down a small cobbled stone path.

"But, hey, we get it--_you're an FBI agent_. Through and through. And Starsky and me-- just a couple of Bay City cops—who are dispensable."

"That's not true." August reached out to stop him, closing the distance between them.

Hutch took a step back, shaking his head at her. "Damn it, August. You can't defend it. So, tell ya what-- _let's just do the job_. I don't want Starsky distracted cuz he's worried about how I'm dealing with this. You're not the first investigator to screw us over. We gotta put this to rest for now."

She slowly nodded.

He gave her a long gaze and seeing his utter disappointment in her in the stare, August bit her lower lip, trying her hardest not to let even a single tear fall.

There was an uncomfortable silence before he spoke again.

"You can do something for me, though."

"Anything," she told him.

"Tell me about Sonora's work up. What is it I don't know?"

August sighed and took a sincere moment to think about what she could tell the tall, blond officer about Sonora Latrielle.

"What makes her tick?" He had tried to ask with nonchalance, but August could see it was very important to him to hear something he didn't know about the woman they were protecting. The same woman that had nearly ruined Ken's life.

"Daddy Issues I would imagine fuels it all." He guessed, fishing for some insight into the complicated woman criminal.

"Hmm, no doubt having Zak Latrielle as a father warped her, but her issues probably have more to do with her sister," August offered as she kicked at a loose stone.

"What?" Hutch asked as they continued trudging forward.

"The sister—Celina. That's what the shrinks at the bureau also connected to her behavior, some unfinished business from her childhood."

Hutch stopped and used a hand to stop August too. "_What's this?"_ Quizzical lines furrowed his brow.

"Oh, you don't know about Sonora's sister?"

"No. That's why I'm askin'," Hutch said, his impatience showing through as he stared down at her.

August gestured toward some boulders and Hutch followed her lead. Sitting next to her, he asked again, "_So_, Sonora had a sister…_and?_"

"Yeah. She _had_ one. Apparently her sister, six years older than her, ran into

her own private nightmare…" she let the words draw Hutch in.

"_Celina_, so the story goes, married real young. Married a rookie cop—who had a reputation for being rough on the job and even rougher at home. Despite all of Zak Latrielle's power and money, Celina didn't seek refuge in the house of her father but instead chose to find her escape via blowing her brains out. Committed suicide—after five years of domestic abuse. Sonora found the body. She was, ahh, I think twelve or thirteen. Something like that."

"She was the one that found her, huh?" Hutch contemplated the information he had just heard.

"Yeah, and apparently Sonora was around to see the damage of some of those beat downs, too. The cop's name, hmm-- Tremaine. Yeah, well, Matty Tremaine disappeared, just hours really, after his wife's suicide. Nobody knows what happened to him. The body was never found. They never were able to connect Tremaine's murder to her father, but there are horrible stories being re-told that say Zak was definitely present to see the light go out of the cop's eyes. You know, I saw a picture of Tremaine—you guys could pass for cousins. Tall and blond—brothers even. I guess you can figure out the rest."

Hutch had been listening intently and said in realization,"So, your guys …think...that's why she came after me."

"Payback, transference of her need for revenge, is their guess. Whether she's conscious of that or not is the issue."

"Ummm, she was kid," Hutch replied, distracted. August knew enough about Ken Hutchinson to imagine his thoughts were probably caught up on the picture of Sonora as a young girl, finding her sister's body… the blood and gore. And how it must have impacted her young psyche.

'Splains some stuff.' She thought he may have mumbled.

"Hmm?" August asked, hoping he would clarify his comment.

"Nothing," he said. "You have her profile information with you?"

"I got some of it."

"Can I look through it?"

"Well, I guess if anybody's earned the right—you have. Maybe we should be heading back, huh? I really just wanted to tell you -- it wasn't anything personal. It's the job."

"Yeah, whatever. We can hash all this out later. When we get through this assignment. I don't want to complicate things anymore than they already are."

"I'm just sorry."

"Yeah," he said, walking away from her.

**-sOs-**

She looked like the angriest little teenage girl in the whole world.

Everyone else in the shot was also dressed in black. Exiting a limousine that had just left her sister Celine's gravesite. Why someone would have included the picture in her FBI file, an inexperienced investigator might have wondered.

But Hutch knew exactly why it was there.

All her brokenness and ruthlessness so perfect captured. A study that told the story of the future of a woman destined to some kind of madness.

It all made sense now.

Why she had come after him with such a maniacal passion.

Revenge formed in a child's mind.

How she had been hurt… how a man, _a cop_ had sent her down the road of retribution and insanity. Of course, being the daughter of a brutal mob boss destined Sonora for a life of crime. Anyway you looked at it, Sonora was headed for a life of troubles.

It was no excuse for what she'd had done to him… but at least somehow Sonora Latrielle made sense to him now.

She was most likely crazy and that meant she was more than dangerous.

The FBI's psychiatrist's conclusion:

**The suicide of a sister has had a long term and severe effect on Ms. Latrielle's mental health. Sonora Latrielle has exhibited a history of unbalanced behavior. Displays fixation with revenge and torture. The subject has been treated for depression in both her teen and adult life. Histrionic Personality Disorder (HPD) leaning toward Narcissistic tendencies. Her criminal behavior is most likely fueled by her psychopathology… She remains a danger to herself and to others. Latrielle should be handled with the utmost caution. **

The last line was penciled in:

_Stress may exacerbate her psychopathological tendencies. This woman is a walking time bomb…_

Hutch closed the file. Tossing it to the ground like it was a burning hot coal.

_A walking time bomb_. And he and Starsky were in her strike zone.

Hutch's hands were shaking.

**(tbc)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Circle of Grief: Chapter 12**

Something had happened.

Something between that FBI agent August Moon and Ken.

Were they lovers?

Why should she care?

About him?

About anybody?

Not after everything she'd been through…

**-sOs-**

_Don't pull that poor little rich girl routine on me. I know what you are._

_Little rich girl routine_. Detective Starsky's words. Hardly the truth. Rich? Not anymore. Her inheritance and all the money she had added to it were gone. All her assets frozen. Stolen -- by the government. She didn't even think it was legal for them to take all her possessions. But there wasn't a lawyer around who would take her case – suing the federal government to retrieve the money, homes, cars, and jewelry that she had obtained through a criminal operation.

She was poor. And the comment from that Detective Starsky had gotten under her skin.

She was a lot more sensitive than she used to be.

People had done things to hurt her. The tables had turned…the fat lady had sung…curtains had closed…chickens had come home to roost…

Payback was a—

She could attest to all of that.

Sonora was undone.

Kenneth Hutchinson had brought it all down.

Or, was it…

What _she_ had done to him that had brought it all down?

Weeks after the man she had claimed for a husband had escaped, the word hit the streets.

Tales of Sonora Latrielle's wedded union to a police detective.

Of course her mob family didn't appreciate the secret she had been hiding. They didn't get the irony of her meting out a measure of some kind of twisted revenge against a cop who had been dead for over 15 years-- Matty Treamaine. The man Sonora felt responsible for the cause of her sister Celina's suicide many years before. She had been called to meet with all the heads of the family and present her case. Sonora had thought they seemed sympathetic enough-- eager to give Zak's kid the benefit of the doubt.

A ruse.

One of M's loyal henchmen dropped a dime to tell her bodyguard; early the next morning a car filled with men in black, toting an arsenal of guns were going to make a lasting impression on Sonora. A permanent one. They were coming for her. Monster gave her an hour to pack. Had dragged her away from one of the beautiful mansions her father had left her, with just three pitiful bags. Leaving behind her most precious possessions.

She had whined and slobbered miserably for almost three hours. Finally, Monster had stopped the car—shook her ferociously, scolding her; "Those are just things. You'll get more things. Damn it, _don't you get it? _They were going to kill you."

A light bulb moment. Things were changing.

A lifetime of having things her way didn't prepare her for the months that followed.

Sonora and the bodyguard her father had entrusted to her…pulling off the road to spend nights sleeping in the car. The giant man who was her companion, too big to sleep comfortably in the car, often wrapped himself in a blanket and slept under the stars.

They moved under the cloak of darkness. Using nighttime to stop and stock up on food and other necessities. A rare stay at rundown, grubby motels to wash the dirt from their clothes and bodies.

Zak Latrielle's kid, the infamous mob boss's princess daughter, living like a common vagrant.

She begged and pleaded with M to let them return to civilization. Couldn't they find a secluded place, a nice gentleman's farm maybe? A nice 50 acre estate somewhere? Who would ever look for her on a farm, she asked her bodyguard?

"Howaya gonna hide in plain sight with a seven foot giant attached to your hip?" He had pointed out to her.

She had never given M enough credit for his common sense.

So they kept living in the night. Living like two criminal vampires. Each day, dismantling Sonora's pride and mental health as she gave up more and more of the amenities she had been so used to. The long languid hours spent relaxing in a bubble bath, surrounded by tea lights and sipping champagne… now a quick wash up in a broken-down, putrid-smelling gas station bathroom. All of her creams, lotions and oils that pampered her skin replaced be a single gigantic jar of Vaseline she had snagged off the shelf during one of those evening stock-ups at some old roadside store.

A hurried call to her accountant was how she found out she was penniless.

The only money they had was the measly savings Monster had managed to withdraw on that afternoon Sonora had had to make a run for her life.

Years of having everything her way and now-- nothing her way. Sonora had a fleeting thought that just maybe this was what those bugs that she captured in jars when she was kid, must have felt like…

A feeling of utter vulnerability…of feeling complete desperation.

Or maybe…

Maybe, that was how _he_ had felt…

She had lost who she was, hadn't she? All of it stolen away, just like that. No longer a princess…a glamorous and powerful woman who told people to jump and they did.

And now she was nothing…nobody.

She certainly wasn't Mrs. Kenneth Hutchinson. She had had some weird fantasy that maybe when he saw her, he would be compelled to rescue her.

Love her…

Save her…

Fix her…

Her knight in shining armor.

As Monster aimlessly drove them across state lines, she had only her thoughts to keep her from going insane. They always seemed to find their way back to the man.

The cop…to Ken.

**-osOso-**

"She doesn't seem your type, Ken." The voice lowered and mumbled mockingly, "August Moon, what a stupid name."

Hutch frowned and eyed her through the rearview mirror, but said nothing in reply.

"I know they say cops stick together… I guess you really take it to heart."

He turned to point a warning finger at her. "_You_ need to shut up."

"_Why don't you shut me up?"_ Sonora quipped angrily. Slitting her eyes to show her aggression.

Hutch shook his head. "_Msss_ Latrielle, I'm not playing your games," he said bluntly, turning his attention away from her childish behavior.

"I mean it, Ken. You're so mad…you hate me, _right? Don't you?_ Why don't you hit me? Go ahead-- do it! I know you want to. That's what men do. Isn't it!"

They were alone.

Starsky was yards from the car, positioned next to a gas station attendant who was trying to explain the location of the inconspicuous, impossible to find Route 111 that was eluding them.

August was making the daily call to her boss, Leo McNamara.

When Hutch didn't answer the tiny woman, who looked a bit more disheveled and a bit more crazed that morning, shrieked, "Let me out! I've got to get out of this car. I can't breathe."

She kicked at the front seat. Once and then twice. Reveling in the annoyance on the face in the mirror, she kicked with both feet. "I want out!"

Hutch flung his door open. His abruptly jumping out of the car, generated a saucer-wide stare of concern from Starsky, who ended his conversation with the gas attendant and local farmer who had joined in to add in his two cents about the best way to get to the hidden route.

"_Hey? Hey?"_ Starsky shouted out as he quickly jogged towards Hutch. "What?" he asked.

"She's kicking the seat."

Starsky, puzzled by the statement, bent over to peek at Sonora. She sat quietly, her hands in her lap. Cascading curls hiding her face from him.

Starsky stood back up. Confused and concerned he studied his obviously stressed partner. "Wha…"

"Never mind," Hutch cut him off. "We're going," he stated, more than asked, sliding a mean look at the woman who had turned off her fit just as quickly as she had turned it on. "I just want get this over with, huh?"

"Yeah," Starsky said, "We're going," still studying Hutch's face. Trying to figure out how to convey his support for such a thing as Sonora kicking at the front seat.

He didn't have time to come up with anything.

"We're picking up a new vehicle tomorrow," August announced as she walked up to them.

"Why?" Hutch, still frustrated, argued. "We only got three more days in this thing. Doesn't make any sense."

"Look, it's all in place and that's the way it's going down," she said, slipping on a pair of dark sunglasses.

"Whatever." Aggravated, Hutch said, " Let's just pick it up and get this thing done."

He got back into the passenger seat. August in the back. Before Starsky got settled behind the wheel, Hutch looked up to see Sonora's tiniest smile, suggesting that she was pleased she had gotten a rise out of him.

"Alright. Let's get this show on the road." Starsky attempted enthusiasm as he drove off.

(TBC)


	13. Chapter 13

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 13**

Was wanting to throw yourself out of a moving car a sign of going mad?

It wasn't like she could ask any of the other people around her.

With them she had no voice … was nothing to them. Not even to Ken.

He had told her so.

His words delivered with enough pointed cruelty to slash deep wounds across her heart. A heart that had, in his absence from her life, pined for him.

Maybe that was more proof of her being insane. They had traveled such a treacherous road to being husband and wife-- and she could confess, _admit _to her own wrong doing in the matter. But despite everything, the man who sat in the front seat, who acted like he hated her, despite it all, as lovers they had reached a nirvana of some kind.

Love…

Between them, transcended above all the nasty details of how that love had been forged. To Sonora, it didn't matter _who_ they had been or _what _they had been. They had come to share a marriage bed…a married love. Her heart would never allow her to forget it. And she still believed that love to be the last thing holding her together. Believed that the moment he saw her, Ken would remember how good they were together, too.

She had given him all of her.

And she had lost everything… and had lost him, too.

But odd as it was, Sonora Latrielle, a woman who once had a beating heart of stone had resorted to…hope.

Although, she still also had a calculating mind and it had been the force behind dropping her into the lap of the Feds. Her mind - apparently no longer in good working order - that had schemed, theorized, and capitulated to the plan, the one that got Ken back in her life and her pathetic, weeping heart had followed dumbly along like some wayward and homeless pup.

She had pitched the deal to the FBI as a last resort to save her marriage to Ken Hutchinson. It was a show of weakness, but she didn't care. She had made the call and told the federal investigators she'd give them whatever they wanted. Names, dates, places. Details of crimes big and small. Everything, if…they'd give her what she wanted…what she needed…Ken.

Just one more chance to prove to him how she loved him. But he had never even given her that chance. Shutting the door to her having access to him. Blocking out any attempt from her to fix things between them.

Treating Zak's kid like yesterday's garbage.

Sonora Latrielle…

Hah! She didn't even deserve to carry the name. What would her father think of what she'd become? How could her father have any respect for a child of his having lost her entire inheritance and position-- over a cop?

She had lived her whole life determined not to repeat the mistakes of her sister… who'd allowed an abusive cop to steal her youth, her beauty. Lost her soul to a wife-beating coward.

And look at what she'd become. Was it a genetic aberration? Both of Zak Latrielle's daughters falling under the spell of a cop? But unlike the violent and menacing Matty Tremaine, who had been her sister's tormentor, the only hand Ken had ever raised to her had been loving –and _oh,_ how she wanted him to touch, hold, and comfort her now.

Sonora was sure of only one thing --Ken's feelings had been real and so were hers.

No matter what Ken thought, neither she nor Dr. Archelaus had planted that love in him. There were no love potions or crafty possession of his heart. Yes, he'd been programmed to serve her, be obedient. But …neither of them had bothered to order Ken to be in love with her. Ken had done that all on his own. Had given his heart to her freely.

She could so clearly see that-- why couldn't he?

And now, he was the only thing she had left to live for.

**-sOs-**

"Sonora!" Hutch yelled out again. He turned around, frustrated, as his eyes searched for any sign of her. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

Punching a fist into the side of a leg he shook his head, thinking how pissed Starsky was going to be...

They went into the small factory town to pick up the white van, which was the new transportation the Bureau had arranged for them. The little town of Lisbon had a four-story hotel with a small restaurant next door to it.

It felt like civilization and Starsky had seemed to be happy with the fact that there were paved streets, and banks and a small department store. He told them he was going to gas-up the van and check under the hood—but Hutch had smiled to himself, picturing that Starsky probably just wanted to take a moment to look in a few store windows, buy a watch maybe, and a six pack. Revisit normal life.

Feeling the need for some distance from each other, on check-in this time around, they had gotten adjoining rooms.

Now Hutch could see it was a mistake. When August had gone to the bathroom, Sonora had slipped away.

"_I swear Ken, I was only in there two minutes,_" the flustered female agent told him, apologizing for the mess she had made.

And now, almost fifteen minutes later, Sonora was still missing.

August ran out onto the street and Hutch had searched the stairwells and laundry, basement, and utility rooms of the hotel. His shouts only earning him a few disapproving stares from eyes peeking out at him through partially opened hotel room doors.

His own eyes came to rest on the words on the small sign, **2ND Floor, ROOF ACCESS**. Hutch's stomach rolled. "Roof…" The word he whispered was doom-laden and he took off running up to the building's top floor.

There was no surprise in finding her standing so close to the edge. He was both angry and scared. He was tired of Sonora's games. Of the way her flourishing insanity threatened to destroy everyone around her. He was scared because maybe-- he didn't have enough in him to stop her from hurting herself. Maybe his disdain for her ran too deep.

It was windy and cold out there. Somehow, despite the chilliness Hutch's palms were hot and clammy; he felt a surge of strength and tried to take control of the situation.

"Sonora, get back," he ordered the woman with feral-looking eyes, that he was supposed be trying to save from herself. Almost paralyzed with dread he forced his legs to take a step in her direction-- he was even able to wave an arm to motion her back from the edge.

Her face twisted with rebellion, she cried out, "_Why? _Why should I. You hate me—I have nothing. _Nothing!_ Everything's gone…"

"Just come back from the edge--over here." Hutch could feel the thumping in his chest. A multitude of emotions rushed through him. The tumultuous assault caught him off guard. Made him feel weak-kneed. He needed Starsky to handle this. To handle her.

"NOOOO." Sonora shrieked and stomped her feet, like a child refusing to go to bed. Her hair flew wildly, the long dress she wore swirling about her legs. making it look like the material would trip her if she made the slightest mis-step.

"Give me your hand!" He yelled to her.

She screwed her face up, laughing mockingly. "We tried that—_remember_? And _you_ left me."

"Sonora, get over here!" He took another careful step towards her.

"_Why?__ What difference does it make to you_? You'll be rid of me—isn't that what you want?" The hysterical woman flaunted her close proximity to the edge of the roof.

Hutch hung his head, unable to answer her accusation.

She let out a roaring laugh…and cut it off abruptly with a quietly spoken question as she moved a tiny bit closer to him.

"_When will it be enough?"_

"I don't know…what…what you mean..."

"Yes, you do! _YOU DO!!_ I've lost the houses, my horses, my inheritance, my life… _Everything_! I've lost it all…and it's not enough."

"I can't redeem you," he said, sounding cruel.

"I don't want redemption." Her voice was haunting. "When… will it be enough…for you….for… you to…" Now she hung her head.

_To love you_, he said, silently.

Flustered, Hutch shook his head with vehemence. He couldn't get his cop mind to click on. It was just the two of them and the wind and the ground below. "I- I can't…"

He was weakening and they both knew it.

"You won't," she accused.

Rattled by the incrimination he looked away from her.

Sonora kept at him. "You do…but you won't."

He knew exactly what the few twisted words meant.

"I—want…" She started to lose her tiny bit of composure, helpless and lost she lifted up her eyes to search his. "… I want … to be g…good… I-I'm trying… I've given up everything. _Why_…why can't you love…_why?"_

She suddenly stopped, her black eyes piercing through him.

Hutch didn't answer and the distraught woman's lips curled into a sneer, she abruptly turned, dashing to make her leap from the four-story building.

Hutch bounded toward her, capturing her around the waist with strong arms as she tried to kick and jerk her way out of his grasp.

"_Stop. Stop. Sonora. Don't fight me_," he cried. "This isn't the way!" He wrestled with her to pull her back from the roof's edge.

Reluctantly she surrendered, collapsing into him -- her sobs stolen by the wind gusting around them.

He picked her up, drawing her to his chest and carried her back inside.

"You found her…_What happened?"_ August asked worriedly, flinging open Hutch's and Starsky's room door.

Sonora held tightly to him and grunted a crazed refusal to the FBI agent who tried to peel her off him.

"Why…why..why…" Sonora asked him over and over, curling into his chest, her hands keeping an anchoring a grip on his shirt.

Hutch found his voice but even to him, it sounded hollow. "August…go to the restaurant next door—get a bottle of wine. Red."

"How am I…"

"I don't know," he said, grimly. "Just get one."

"What about her?" August nodded at Sonora.

Hutch shook his head noncommittally. Emotionally exhausted, he purposely kept his gaze away from the woman huddled in his arms.

August had gone.

And they were left alone.

He was on dangerous ground.

He moved to lie her down on the bed and Sonora grabbed tightly at his shirt, so he kept her in his arms, the bed sinking with their weight.

"_Please_…" she asked, looking up at him. Their faces mere inches apart… "Please." As much desperation as desire.

Hutch was still as she tugged at him…her hands traveling up to his neck. Laying warmth there as her eyes pleaded with him. "… please." Her soft breathy voice, her round, dark eyes widening, deeply gazing at him and he couldn't turn away from her. All that remained of her was tragic and beautiful. A soul lost and needing just a morsel of grace from him and him alone.

He didn't push her away. He stilled completely as she rose up, her lips hungrily sought his and he…closed his eyes.

He wouldn't fight her…

He was so tired of fighting her…

And that was how Starsky found them.

The loud, double cough made Sonora jump back and she looked up at the dark-haired officer, the sight of him sending her into a mournful wail. She buried herself even further into Hutch's arms.

Starsky's expression of anger disappeared -- the woman's fretful state made him quickly re-evaluate the scene he had just walked into.

He approached them and Hutch almost shrunk under his friend's pointed stare. Looking questioningly at him, Starsky put aside the bag he was carrying and touched him—declaring he understood something had happened and he was there to help.

Hutch looked up at him, beaten down and weary. "I… guess she's a…umm…"

"I see," Starsky told him. "_What happened_?" he inquired with real concern.

"Not sure," Hutch answered so tiredly it caused his partner to give him another touch of support.

Starsky tried to get a closer look at her and she yelped again and tried to hide her face as she made her body even smaller, burrowing into Hutch's protection.

"Starsk," was Hutch's suggestion for his partner to back off.

"I'm not leavin'," Starsky answered with certainty.

Hutch gave him a scolding glance and Starsky took one step back from him and Sonora.

August re-entered the room. "Got it," she announced, showing off the bottle of wine she had managed to procure.

Hutch reached out a hand and August, spying a glass filled it with the dark burgundy-colored liquid.

"Drink this," Hutch said to Sonora with a gentle voice as he brought the glass near her turned face. "C'mon. Here now," he urged. She moved cautiously, taking hold of the glass in his hands. She took sips in between sobs of sorrow and embarrassment.

Soon she took the glass from him… taking in larger gulps of the wine as she sat up.

-**sOs-**

Starsky watched her closely. The woman was a mess. Her eyes were eerily bright and she really looked scared. Of what, Starsky wasn't sure. She was hurting that was obvious. Close to a mental breakdown was his diagnosis, and it wasn't giving him as much pleasure as he thought it would have.

Was this the day that Starsky had hoped for?

How many times had he daydreamed about Sonora being stripped of everything--left with just her sins to and a grave to bury them in?

Well, it looked like maybe her sins had come back to haunt her. Maybe she was horrified by what they said about who-–_what_ she was. It wasn't too hard to figure; she had sought out some humanity, tried to find some forgiveness in Hutch and that's what the kiss was about.

Hutch was all she had left.

Suddenly, Starsky felt completely helpless.

If he had made that observation, surely Hutch had come to that conclusion too.

He was the only thing standing between Sonora and insanity.

Damn.

That was just the kinda thing that could trigger that dratted 'damsel in distress syndrome' his friend suffered from, Starsky thought bitterly.

He surveyed his partner for any signs to disprove his theory…

There were none.

Hutch's body language was stiff as Sonora lay nestled in his arms but his eyes… that's where Starsky found his confirmation. There was too much empathy in them.

Starsky sighed roughly and Hutch looked to him with inquiry.

Starsky didn't have the heart to tell his friend that he had just lost the war. The enemy had crossed the barricade. They needed to pack their bags and head back for Bay City before the next sunrise, because Hutch was standing in the middle of a minefield. That minefield was Sonora, and when she went up in flames, both him and Hutch were gonna get burned. Burned bad.

There was no safe perimeter, not emotional, not physical. Sonora Latrielle was destined for destruction and it looked like she was determined to try and take Hutch down with her.

Starsky's gut was churning and his brain in overdrive, trying to calculate an escape for him and his best friend. Feeling like he was in the room with a killer cobra, he kept his eyes glued to her, watching her every move.

Sonora sniffed as she calmed. August, at Hutch's urging, had refilled the glass with wine and the ex Mrs. Hutchinson was still trying to seek comfort in his hold.

Starsky shifted his gaze back at Hutch and noted the empathy that had been there was gone.

The detective sergeant -- now taking charge.

Hutch, with deliberate care, got up, simultaneously guiding the woman in his arms to do the same. Placing her feet on the floor, he released her, pushing her at August, he asked the agent; "You'll get her into bed?"

Sonora, looking terrified, reached for him. Firmly taking possession of the front of his shirt, she frantically shook her head. A refusal to leave him.

Hutch took the wine glass from her and passed it to August.

He leaned over to speak to the distressed woman. "If you sleep now…you'll feel better…we'll need to…get back on the road in the morning…" Detective Hutchinson told her. "It'll best for all of us...if you go…go now." He gently guided her toward August, who carefully led the woman into the adjoining bedroom.

All the while, Sonora's gaze searched him for more kindness…

Starsky kept his eyes affixed to the partner who turned his back to him.

"Hey," Starsky said softly. "I ain't mad."

Hutch faced him. "That kiss. I-I should've…I should have stopped that."

"Yeah," Starsky quietly agreed.

**(tbc)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 14**

Starsky, pouting, stared at the white panel truck and the words painted on it:

_Ernie and Ned's Plumbing._

"You've got to be joking," he barked at August.

"It's no joke, Dave. This is what we're riding in from here on out."

Hutch, with a mischievous smile and, barely containing a round of snickering, pointed out to him that apparently the words in smaller print, "50 years down the Drain" _were_ supposed to be funny.

Starsky didn't miss that it might have been the first time since they had been on the road that he'd seen Hutch smile. Hutch was taking a moment of levity to de-stress. And it made him want to be a part of that moment. "Yeah, I guess that is kinda funny," Starsky agreed, and Hutch rewarded him with a wink for allowing him to poke fun.

"Well, partner. Let's just get in the thing and see what this baby can do, huh?" Starsky added good-naturedly.

**-sOs-**

Nobody saw where the shooters came from.

Several cars - out of nowhere - were on their tail.

Hutch grabbed Sonora and moved swiftly to the back of the van. Keeping her small body tucked under his, he broke out a rear window making it easier to get a clear shot at the vehicles that were attempting to overtake them.

"_Where the hell did they come from?"_ Starsky cursed, brandishing one of the automatic weapons in their small arsenal and returning rapid fire at the mob hitmen. August's prowess as a defensive driver quickly became obvious as she expertly maneuvered the treacherous mountainside two-lane highway, trying to prevent the shooters from getting a clear shot at them or Sonora.

The chase was terrifying. They shouted shooting and driving instructions back and forth to each other, and their coordinated efforts and skills as officers of the law paid off. Five minutes into the assassination attempt, one of the drivers of the mysterious vehicles had been killed, driving his black Cadillac and passengers into a massive roadside tree. After repeated firing, Starsky finally managed to shoot out the front tires of the second car full of mobsters. The third black car of hitmen wisely slowed down and August, yelled out, "Looks like they're not liking the odds so much. _Chickens_!"

"No, they're probably just waiting for backup," Starsky yelled back.

After all of the gun blasts, it seemed eerily quiet as August continued driving at a high speed to keep distance between them and any more shooters that might have been part of the caravan of assassins. Starsky, speeding on adrenalin and the smell of gun smoke, worked to gather up ammunition and reload his weapon. A stinging bolt of fire jarred him and it was only then that Starsky realized he had taken a bullet solidly in his right arm. "Terrific," he cursed.

If he was hit…

_Hutch?_

Something cold in him forced his vision back to the rear of the van and the bullet holes riddling its metal doors… and to his partner's face…

The weird expression on it frightened him. Hutch was sitting. Arms down by his sides, loosely grasping the gun in his right hand.

"_You hit?"_ Starsky tried to remain calm, but he already knew the answer.

Getting no reply, he scrambled out of the front passenger seat and went to check on his partner.

"_Hutch?"_

Hutch's eyes seemed vacant as they stared back at him.

Starsky started looking over his partner's slumped form for what he feared the most, and in a blink found it.

The tell-tale, glistening wetness seeping through Hutch's blue, white, and green plaid shirt.

Starsky's gut churned and he shook his head woefully. Hutch was shot, not a flesh wound. And they were in the middle of nowhere, with a crazy woman to contend with and an army of mob hitmen on their heels. But right now, Hutch was bleeding and Starsky had to take care of him.

He gently slid Hutch's gun from his hand.

Bullet wounds were serious business. His partner had been shot. He was shot. They needed help. Any hospital nearby would fill in a matters of minutes with men in black, looking to take out Sonora and anyone else who was with her. Innocent people would get hurt.

They were out in the cold, without backup-- who could they trust?

"Hey," he spoke quietly. The detached expression on Hutch's face was scaring him-- what was it saying?

Starsky deliberately choked down panic and his own pain. He reached out, gently maneuvering his friend's body onto the van's floor. "Here, c'mon, partner. Let's…c'mon. Lie down."

It was as if human touch ignited the pain. And Hutch gasped and moaned roughly, trying to roll over. The movement made him shudder and his legs jackknifed. He drew them up, trying to curl in on himself.

"Hutch, no!" Starsky winced back the misery of the searing ache in his arm and tried to use both hands to halt any further movement that might spill more blood from the wound in Hutch's side. Pleading; "Hutch, no…no…you gotta stay still."

"What…wha…" Hutch, distraught and confused, answered.

"You got a slug in you, buddy."

"Been shot b'fore…why…why s'hurt so much….Oh God…Starsk."

Starsky steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, struggling to keep him on the van floor. He leaned over Hutch and forced a frightened smile. "Hey, you never been shot in the side before. Right? It's just all the soft tissue there, that's all."

Hutch screwed watery eyes at him, as if amazed at the explanation.

"_What_?_" _He managed to sound annoyed and then tensed his body to prepare for another wave of torment shooting up through him.

Clenching his teeth, he shook his head in disbelief at the intensity of it and tried to raise himself up. Grabbing hold of Starsky he called out to him, "Stars…"

"It's alright…s'alright," Starsky promised. Keeping a strong grip on his wounded partner and begging him again; "Hutch please…stay still for me, huh?" He slid a hand onto Hutch's neck.

And Hutch dutifully responded to the plea and the warm hand attempting to comfort him. He sucked in air. Closing his eyes tightly in an effort to tap into his last reserves.

Starsky tendered a thumb over the damp-with-sweat skin, riveted to the efforts of his partner to do what he had asked.

Hissing out another breath, Hutch slowly opened his eyes, his glazed stare settling on the roof of the vehicle and then, as if in sudden realization, he turned it to Sonora. The reason for past and his most immediate agony.

Her tear-filled eyes, wide with fright, were locked on him. She was shaking, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest. Splashes of red dotted her clothes.

His blood.

Hutch groaned out a sardonic laugh -- anyone listening could hear the anguish in it.

Starsky shakily faked levity while carefully peeling back Hutch's leather jacket. "Hey partner, you take a nick on the head, too?" Stopping to read Hutch's face, "What's so funny?" he asked benevolently.

"H-hasn't been my…my year…" His features angled in pain, but he continued in an odd cadence --the words spoken somewhere between a bizarre giggle and obvious bitterness. Tears were squeezed from the corners of his eyes as he continued. "K—kidnapped…brainwashing…d-drugged…" The combination of a groan and a bark of laughter hindered him.

"You're scaring me, okay?" Starsky told him. "C'mon take it easy, will ya?"

"No…no…no, s' true. Been walking 'round like I got an ax stuck in the middle of my brain. N—_now I get shot_…" His peculiar chuckling turned into a rough, choking cough. "Oh, it hurts," he called out. "_W-What -- the hell's next!" _

Starsky moved in closer to set his friend straight.

"Yeah, buddy, I know it's been a rough one, but don't worry about this. I got it. S'not as bad as it looks."

"Awww," Hutch groaned through a choppy breath. "This…this can't be good. Not good…s'not good." His feelings of utter defeat came through clearly and Starsky put on his soldier face to make it clear to his partner that there would be no surrendering while he was in charge.

He sounded angry when he told Hutch, "Don't be drawin' any conclusions, partner. I said I'm gonna handle it. _Got that_?"

Hutch shook his head slightly as if he was in disagreement with Starsky's evaluation of the situation.

But Starsky's piercing stare was telling Hutch he wasn't going to take any dissenting positions on the matter and Starsky clarified that fact by repeating

"_Got that?_ _I'm handlin' it." _

Hutch's eyes searched his partner's face. "M'tired, Starss…" he slurred.

"Hey, don't be makin' any declarations. _Okay, partner?_ It's just a flesh wound, kay?"

"_Flesh wound, Starsk?"_ Hutch said weakly. His eyes fluttered but he kept them on his friend.

"Okay…okay." Starsky conceded. "But look, we been in worst situations. So, I'm asking you—_trust me?_ Okay, partner? And I promise you--first thing, I'm callin' Dobey. Tell him---me and you are going on a long vacation. I'm talking sun, sand, bikinis—no phones. Just some island lovelies and piña coladas and two Bay City cops--on some secluded beach. I'll even let you take me out on one those little fishing boats I hate so much." Despite the pain it sent racing through him, Starsky massaged confirmation of the promise into Hutch's shoulder, bringing a grimace to his own face.

Hutch didn't say anything.

"I need you to trust me, buddy. That's all I'm asking." Starsky swallowed hard, afraid that Hutch wasn't buying the deal he was putting on the table. "_Okay, partner_?" he asked again.

Hutch sighed roughly, biting back a moan; he gave the only answer Starsky would accept. "Yeah."

Then, noticing Starsky was bleeding, he muttered, "You're – h-hit."

"You know I couldn't let you have all the fun all on your lonesome."

Hutch tried to sit up and examine his partner's injury.

"You gotta stay down, OK, buddy?" Starsky reprimanded.

Losing the battle to stay alert, Hutch mumbled something but calmed as he continued to watch his friend.

Hutch's faltering attention turned to the horrified expression of the woman who had claimed to be his wife. His eyes fought to close but he labored to keep them on her. His disdain for her tugged at his features and he shook his head in a disapproving dismissal of her, and then turned his face toward his partner.

Starsky, following Hutch's lead, frowned at the sight of her, having almost forgotten about the woman he had such contempt for.

Sonora, kneeling close by, reached out to Hutch.

"Don't touch him. Ya done enough," Starsky said with blatant cruelty, his voice thick with condemnation.

Sonora hung her head, dark curls cascading to hide her face, and slowly, she inched away from them.

Starsky immediately got back to attending to his friend. "I'm just gonna take a look at your side, okay buddy? I'll try not to hurt ya."

"Right," Hutch mumbled sarcastically.

Moving his arm caused Starsky to wince, clipping off a groan, he brought up a hand to claw at where a bullet had lodged itself into his right bicep. Quietly, he thanked God that he was a lefty; it was something he and Hutch had traded jokes about, but there wasn't anything to laugh at. Not now.

Starsky gently tugged at the plaid shirt. Blood had saturated the front and side of it. He lifted it. Hutch grunted, and Starsky looked up into his face, giving him an encouraging nod of his head. His eyes wandered back down to the injury.

There was no ghastly wound. Just a red and raw hole where the bullet had tunneled into Hutch's body. Starsky wasn't calmed by the neatness of the injury. It was the damage inside that was the unknown factor. The bright red blood seeping out of the wound was steady and that's what he needed to deal with at the moment.

"August," he yelled. Not even realizing that she was on her knees next to him.

Then he remembered her shouting to him that she had driven off the main road and through a small stream to hide their tire tracks. The sparse shrubbery beating at the sides of the vehicle until August had parked the van in an alcove of trees.

She didn't answer and it made up him look at her. She was in shock. It was not the semblance of a duty-bound, dedicated FBI agent but that of a frightened and horrified woman, overwhelmed by what she was seeing.

If Hutch's life blood wasn't spilling out, Starsky would have taken the time to discuss the irony of her response. After all of August's protestations of her need not to take her work personally-- keeping emotionally detached--she looked like she was paralyzed by the very emotions she claimed had no place in her world of dispensing law and order.

"August!" If there was ever a time he needed Agent Moon's help, it was now. "We're on the job," he snarled to remind her she had skills and under fire training he desperately needed to rely on. "I _need_ you to search those suitcases. Get me a clean towel or something to help stop…"

Her wide eyes flooded with tears, but Starsky didn't take the time to acknowledge them.

She nodded her head, but didn't move.

"Now!"

"Right…right." She eked out, scrambling past him to search their bags.

He looked around the inside the van and out the window. "You see anything out there?" he asked her.

"No. There's n-nothing. J-just trees, shrubbery's pretty d-dense." Her voice cracked.

"That's a lot of blood." Hutch's thin voice interrupted. His eyes were scanning his blood-soaked shirt."

"Don't worry." Starsky assured him.

"Here." August, an armful of towels in tow, offered one to Starsky.

He grabbed it and rolled it up. "Okay, partner. Some pressure."

Sonora crept closer and Starsky's head shot up to warn her again. "I told you to stay away from him."

"M'sorry. I'm so sorry," Sonora lamented.

"I don't have time for this. My partner's got a slug in him. If you haven't noticed. I need you-- _to back off!"_

"S-stars…" Hutch groaned.

"I know. I know, boy." Starsky lightly pressed the towel against the bleeding hole and Hutch gasped loudly.

"Dave. Dave. _He needs a hospital!_" August insisted.

"Think I don't know that?" Starsky growled and then leaned over to whisper some comforting words to his suffering partner.

"You, too," August reminded him.

Starsky turned on her. "What do you suggest, _Agent Moon_? You and I both know there ain't a hospital anywhere in a 10 mile radius where those goons ain't gonna show up to finish what they started…"

"Let me call my boss…"

"No! No freakin' way you're gonna call him and lead those hitmen right to us."

"What are you saying? _Leo?_ That's crazy. He'd never give us up!"

"Well, how the hell did they find us less than a few hours after we picked up the van _you_r boss so conveniently arranged for us to pick up? Answer me that!"

"They're gonna kill…kill…kill…us. They're gonna kill all of us." Sonora's distressed singsong voice, contributing to the heated conversation astonished both August and Starsky. They stared at her and she confirmed the statement, giving them a weird smile as tears streamed down her face. "They're gonna kill us all…"

Past being aggravated and stressed-out, Starsky told August; "_See her_? You need to deal with it. That's what you're here for—isn't it? Get her to shut up."

"Kill…kill…us…"

"Shut her up!" Starsky demanded; as he continued trying to help his partner.

"I'm calling Leo," August reiterated.

"Kill…kill…they killed Ken…and they're gonna k-kill us…"

"Agent Moon. Deal with her!"

"Leo will send a fleet of guys…"

"Kill…Ken's blood…it's everywhere… dead…"

"…and we'll have all the back-up we need…"

"…all dead...."

"…we can get Ken to a hospital. Nobody at the Bureau would do this to us…"

Starsky, hitting his boiling point, rose up, yelling hoarsely; "_That's it. Everybody--shut up!!"_

The van's back doors flying open stunned them all into silence.

A man in black-- with a gun, accompanied by a small fleet of men with guns, grinned at them.

"_Everybody shut up?—_ Hey, that's exactly what I was gonna say."

(**tbc**)


	15. Chapter 15

****authors note: this chapter will read better and make a lot more sense if you've read the first story "Sonora." ****

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 15**

There had been men with guns, Starsky calling out to him, they were separated, and now he was alone. His shirt, saturated with his own blood, stuck to him, pulling at the wound. Setting off tendrils of pain shooting through the throbbing, raw ache in his left side. His very life slipping away with the blood still seeping out of the injury.

He needed help.

"S-tarsk." The cry for his partner ground out through chattering teeth. He was alone.

Where was he? It wasn't in a hospital.

A horrible recollection tugged at him, making his heart thump madly against his chest wall.

There was another time…he needed a hospital…and he had been alone. Taken into a cold, sterile laboratory and experimented on like a mouse in a cage.

All alone…no help.

A partially blurred and frighteningly familiar face bobbed in, out, and over him. The distorted image startled Hutch to his core. He had to get away. "No," he groaned in protest, attempting to roll off the table underneath him.

"Be still, Detective." The voice, that he knew too well, reprimanded him.

Horrified, "Nooo," Hutch moaned loudly, trying to lift a trembling leg. He had to get away.

"Why, must you be so…so troublesome, _Ken_?" The tone was mocking.

He struggled, but the man clawed at him, pulling him back down, easily slipping a leather strap onto his right arm.

"No!" Hutch rebelled. _Not again! _Weakening, he begged_, "_Plea-see…I can't…"

The plea only earned him a frown and the man, restraining his movement, quietly continued strapping Hutch's legs and arms down. When he finished, he gave Hutch a clinically detached once over and then with a malicious, thin smile, raised a hand to touch his cheek.

Hutch cringed away from the contact, unbridled fear sending tremors through his pain-racked body. He tried to show defiance but the solitary sound of his panicked and agonized panting filled the quiet room. .

The man looking down on him spoke, _**"**__Well, Ken-- it's just like old times, isn't it?"_

**-osOso-**

Dead on his feet, indignant and angry that he'd been separated from Hutch, Starsky swayed unsteadily. '"Whss my partner," he slurred, getting in the face of the man in black who had a gun strapped to his massive, muscular chest.

"Dave." August protectively reached to pull him back from the confrontation.

Unwavering in his need to find out what had happened to his best friend, "Offa me," Starsky spouted off. Clenching his teeth against the pain in his arm, he asked with the same intensity he'd use to interrogate a newly arrested criminal, "My partner. He was shot and needs medical attention. Ken Hutchinson—_Where—is—he?_"

The man in black, looking bored by the diatribe, slowly lit a cigarette. "Wait," he replied disinterestedly.

"_Wait?_ Wait for what? I wanna see him now. I don't know what this is…" Starsky weakened, although no longer bleeding from the wound in his arm, stumbled forward. "N-oww." He faltered in giving the order for his questions to be answered immediately. August wedged her body close to his to keep him standing.

"Dave, don't," she pleaded softly.

There was a commotion from the other side of the closed door, voices and instructions being given loudly.

The big man with the gun looked past Starsky, first to August, and then his eyes settled onto Sonora, who had been silent, standing close by the FBI agent's side. In a quick and unexpected move, he snatched up Sonora by the waist. "You're coming with me," he demanded, manhandling her as she struggled against him.

"No," she cried, kicking and twisting. "No! Stop!"

August took a step forward and the man used his free hand to pat his holstered gun. "Mind your manners, lady." He winked and then frowned venomously, making sure she knew he was quite serious about her maintaining her distance. "Be still," he hissed into Sonora's ear, slipping his forearm up across her throat.

Starsky gave him a killing stare that suggested that _their_ business wasn't over. "I wanta know where my partner is."

"You'll know when you know," was the answer Starsky got, before the door slammed shut. There was the unmistakable sound of a lock being turned, preventing them from leaving the room. Sonora's fading cries could still be heard.

The cop and the FBI agent were left there, their eyes glued to the closed door, perplexed about what was on the other side.

Hutch? Now Sonora?

August, exasperated, wondered out loud, "_Where are we?" _

"_Where's Hutch_, that's what I need to know. You saw how bad off he was…" Starsky's abject concern flooded his face and August nodded, reaching out a hand to express her sympathy. "Dave, he's gonna be all right. They probably…" But she couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Probably what!" Starsky, his features pinched with the weariness pain and worry had etched there, demanded to know the answer that she had no real knowledge of.

She spun around and turning up her powers of deduction, waved a hand to suggest he inspect the room they were in. "Look,_ books_." She pointed to a built in bookcase crammed full of them, then a huge, dark cherry-wood antique desk and to the expensive vintage furniture that filled the space. "Dave, _this is somebody's house_."

Picking up on her observations, "A fireplace," Starsky noted weakly.

They both stared at the roaring fire, its spikes of dancing red and orange flame crackling loudly.

"This is someone's library," August continued, making her case. Maybe the situation wasn't as dire as it looked. "I don't think assassins would bring us… _here_… to kill us."

"You saw the way they dragged her outta here," he reminded her.

"Yeah." August, recognizing how puzzling everything had become, sighed, then asked, "You think they killed her?" The thought re-shocked them into a moment of morbid silence.

"I don't know what the heck is going on," Starsky finally replied. "I just wanta find my buddy," he added sadly.

**-osOso-**

"_Poppi?"_

Dr. Archelaus, opening his arms, beckoned to Sonora. And she ran to him. Sobbing the instant he embraced her.

"Oh, sweet child," he cooed calmly into her ear. "I'm here."

He let her cry and then, gently guided her face up so that he could see her. "What a mess you are, daughter. What a mess you are!" he declared.

Amazed to find the man who had become like a father to her, here, to rescue her, she stuttered between sobs, "Poppi… h-how did you g-get here?"

"Well, who did you think was your rescuer?" He smiled broadly, quite proud of himself.

"T-they tried to k-kill me," Sonora stammered.

"Well, yes, I know. But you don't have to worry about them. My men have…ahh, _disposed_ of the pathetic excuses for hit men that came after you."

"How… did you know?"

"Sweetheart, did you seriously think I'd let you handle this all on your own? You're like my child, and I would never let anyone hurt you. Not when I have the power to stop them."

Astonished by the depth of devotion that resounded in his words, she pulled back to study him.

He smiled and caressed her tear-soaked cheek. The tender expression ignited fresh tears and Sonora sniffed in an attempt to hold them back.

Dr. Archelaus slid a pristine white handkerchief from his lab coat and handed it over to her, confessing; "I'll admit it was hard to find you. Cost me a small fortune. I've had my men following you for nearly two weeks, precious!"

"Ahh!" She clapped her hands together, smiling at him in appreciation of the effort he had put into protecting her.

"Sonora, as soon as I found out about your deal with the Feds, I knew all too well it had something to do with you trying to get in the good graces of the damn cop you've completely lost your head over. I swear child, your father's turning over in his…"

"Wait," she interrupted, her momentary joy dissipated." Oh, Poppi—Ken's been shot!" Sonora announced, clinging to the small man.

"I'm well aware of that, dear. But it's you I'm worried about-- you've reached your end, and need to get some rest. I've got a nice room made up for you. Fresh gardenias, champagne,a basket of all the fruits you love…"

Completely ignoring his offer of luxurious rest and comfort, thoroughly distressed over the wounded man she had fallen in love with, Sonora cried out, "He's here—isn't he? You have him, don't you? Where Poppi? Where is he? You'll save him-- won't you?" Her nearly jet-black eyes searching his for help.

Disgusted by her request, he pushed her away. "Why? _Why, Sonora_, must you let this go on any further? That officer is severely injured-- I suspect he's going to die," the doctor pointed out with little concern and a heaping amount of disdain.

"N-oo. _No_! You can't let him die." She leaped on him, pounding on his chest. "I won't let you! You must save him. I know you can. I've seen you save more critically wounded men." There was silence and then speaking softly, she confessed, "You don't understand…I-I love him."

The frustrated doctor shook his head in protest, sneering at her declaration. "This is nonsense, Sonora."

She stared up at him. Her red-rimmed eyes pleading from the depths of her soul. Seeking an act of mercy from a man who only had enough love in _his_ soul for her. Begging him to do whatever she asked. As he always had.

Dr Archelaus loudly groaned his exasperation. Never able to refuse her anything, not even when he hated the man she was begging him to save. The Bay City cop had been the catalyst for Sonora's downfall. Hutchinson had come along and Sonora had gone soft. He had ruined her.

Sonora was the only person Stavos Archelaus had ever really cared for. He'd bullied and ruled over his sisters and mother and killed a young wife who had dared to disrespect him—but Stavos had loved Sonora since the moment he'd met her. She was twelve, angry, devious, defiant—and adorable. And he'd decided to love her like she was his blood, because he had finally met a female who carried the same measure of malevolence that was in him. This new Sonora – the one who had wrecked her life, giving up power and fortune, and her life for…

_Love?_

This wasn't the exquisitely diabolical incarnation he'd been enamored with. But she still was was his daughter, nothing would ever change that. Not even is she was drunk with love and obsession for some worthless, pretty-boy, high and mighty police detective.

He had no choice but to do as she asked, even if, perhaps, the poor thing had gone over to living in madness. His poor baby. He could tell she was unraveling.

She fell on him again, still pleading. "_Please…please, Poppi."_

"That's what you want me to do? Save him, then?" The doctor sighed, prophesying, "No good can come from this. You understand?"

Most likely Sonora would end up in jail _and_ Latrielle Family would be seen as working with the police-- working on the right side of the law-- and there was no reward in the gangster world for such an act of betrayal. Becoming a snitch was the same as signing her own death warrant.

The expression on her blotchy face showed her certainty. "Yes," she said with all the strength left in her. She understood the sacrifice she was making, choosing to love Ken Hutchinson.

"I've spoiled you way too much," he scolded.

"_You'll do it?"_ Sonora sought his affirmation.

"Alright…I'll remove the bullet." Dr. Archelaus spoke the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth.

"_And from the other one, too?" _

"You've got to be kidding..."

"Please, Poppi. He's Ken's friend."

"Oh my! They've corrupted you, child. You want me to save _two_ cops now? What of my reputation?"

Sonora, well aware that the jab meant she was getting everything she'd asked for, laughed lightly.

"Fine," he frowned in reply, but a smile tugged at his lips as he studied her face. "You're still the most beautiful little girl in the world," he said, full of melancholy.

Then he added; "But I'm afraid I can't help them further. They'll all have to leave here – 48 hours is all I can give. Of course, petal, y_ou _are welcome to stay.. But they must go, my dear." Knowing full well she wouldn't take his offer of protection, his tone was most solemn.

"I can't stay."

"Of course." He exhaled in resignation. The old man smiled grimly, tenderly stroking her disarrayed curls. "You've been my joy," he told her. Acknowledging that it might be the last intimate moment they would ever have. "I want you to know that."

"And, you—my father," she sniffed, holding back a sea of tears.

"Yes," he agreed sadly. Disappointment dimming, his eyes softened as he caressed her hair.

**-sOs-**

Starsky struggled to rise to his feet. He couldn't believe his eyes. Into the room, walking hand in hand with a wiry, bespectacled man wearing a caramel-colored lab coat-- Sonora Latrielle. Grinning at him.

Why was she grinning at him? Why was she happy? _Why was she alive?_

Hanging on by a thin thread, Starsky didn't care. He was done trying to figure out Sonora Latrielle and whatever was going on beyond the locked library door. He only wanted one question answered. "Where's Hutch?" he muttered weakly.

"No need to worry!" Sonora said gleefully, "Poppi's gonna help him. There's a lab downstairs and Ken's there. Poppi's going to operate and take the bullet out--yours too." She sounded fully in charge of things as she pointed a finger at his bloody shoulder wound.

"_Poppi?"_ Starsky, repeated. "Lab downstairs… wha.." Confused and in pain, Starsky looked at August when she quizzically sought to clarify what she believed to be true about Sonora's father. _"Zak Latrielle's… dead?"_

"This is Dr Archelaus, he—he's a surgeon," Sonora explained, still sniffing back her recent tears despite her giddy state.

_Archelaus? _

Starsky knew that name— and the face!

"Dr Archelaus!" he growled venomously.

_The scientist that had enslaved and tortured his partner? The man that had pumped him full of experimental poison and caused Hutch days and days of pure, unforgiving hell?_

"Ar-che-laus!" Adrenalin shot through him and Starsky hauled back and slugged the smaller man, sending him sprawling backwards to the wood floor.

"No!" Sonora yelled, and August moved to wrap her arms around Starsky. "Stop, Dave!" she ordered and although Starsky tried to shake her off, he was unable to release himself from her tight hold.

Dr. Archelaus, rising to one knee, not the least bit distressed by the punch, got to his feet. Rubbing his already bruising jaw, "Happy now, Detective?" he quipped.

"Not until I rip your head off!" Starsky barked, reaching for the man again.

"Dave!" A stressed out August yelled. "You've gotta stop this! You're gonna start bleeding again--this isn't helping anything."

Sonora, waving an arm in frustration, appealed, "Don't you understand--he can save Ken."

"No way is _he_ getting within an inch of my partner."

"You want Ken to die?" Sonora argued, tears streaming down her face. "He's a doctor…"

"_First _- do no harm!" Starsky spat out, cutting her off. His face showing his utter disdain for a man who would take a vow to help people and then show completely no regard for human life. "He's no doctor. He's nuthin', and he ain't touchin' Hutch," he reiterated.

Archelaus laughed at the insult thrown his way, adding a bitterly delivered synopsis of the current state of affairs. "_De-tective _Starsky," he sneered, "it's very likely I may not be able to save Hutchinson. It's probably already too late. His condition is dangerously severe from the blood he's lost. The only chance he has is if that bullet is removed. And removed as soon as possible. _Now_, I don't have to do to a thing to kill your friend. Your partner, I assure you, without medical care, will be dead by morning. _If_ you don't want me to touch him, that's fine for me. I've made my promise to Sonora. I will never break a promise I've made to her. But, I don't plan to beg you to allow me save his life. _Your friend's life _is in your hands. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to…" The little man gave a gentle touch to his chin, "put some ice on this--to keep the swelling down." He clicked his heels and headed for the door.

"Poppi, don't…go," Sonora called after him.

"I won't be far," he assured her before exiting.

August immediately confronted Starsky. "We don't have a choice, Dave. Ken needs help and so do you."

"No. No. NO!" An emotionally and physically spent Starsky shook his head. "This… this is crazy…"

"Dave. That man's a doctor," August continued, trying to get him to change his mind. "Dave, you're not thinking straight…"

Dismissing her argument, Starsky weakly debated, "What's wrong with you—we can't trust them! Didya forget who they are? They…they… what that doctor did to Hutch…last time…he...he…" Stopping, he teetered, awkwardly making his way toward the couch.

"Oh, no..." The nightmare of the day expanding, August rushed to his side. Ogling the fresh crimson saturating his already blood-stained shirt. "You're bleeding again," she announced, frowning empathetically. Quietly reprimanding him, she said, "I told you. Why can't you just listen?"

"Don't let…him…" Starsky reached out for her to make sure his point was heard. "Don't let him…touch…Hutch… hear me?" he ordered before passing out in her arms.

**-osOso-**

They were torturing him. A hot coal searing through his side, sending tentacles of burning flame through him. The heat creeping into and over every inch of his body. He was burning up. He groaned against gritted teeth, arching his chest to tug at the leather straps that restrained him.

"Be still," the harsh voice, scolded him.

How long had the torment lasted? Hours or days? A hand, cold as ice, settled on his forehead and Hutch shuddered as chilled sweat slid down the side of his face. He tried to speak in protest but the unformed words that came out sounded like gibberish. He moaned, nearly sobbing in frustration.

He was on fire. Salt from his sweat prickled his pores. He was hot…burning up. "W-water," he begged.

The voice spoke to him again, but Hutch wouldn't listen to it. No, not like the last time – _that voice_ had stolen his life from him. He tuned it out and started gathering all the memories he could—terrified that they would be destroyed. He wouldn't listen to the little man in the caramel-colored lab coat.

Starsky was coming for him…

Visions, like pictures on flash cards, spun out of control inside his head. Images of his partner, and him, places…

Dobey smiling at him from behind his desk. Huggy sliding a cold draft across the bar to him; people from Bay City, Frank; his gigantic frame squeezed into a tux grinning sheepishly at him; Sonora by his side in an off the shoulder beet red satin and velvet gown. An opulent bedroom overlooking a manicured courtyard…his partner's worried face. Him running, him curled up in a corner and Starsky's strong hold to comfort him.

A symphony of voices swirled, like a rushing wind. Assaulting his senses.

"_I'll find you, Hutch. I promise, hear me, I'll find you."_

Dobey telling him…"_He never gave up on you Hutch." _

"_Time to get you home, "Mr. H." Frank slurring drunkenly._

Starsky's voice; _"Your…your…wife's name is Sonora. You…you met her in New Orleans."_

Sonora's dark curls draped across his bare skin, her eyes brimming with devotion asking--

"_Do you know how much I love you?"_

Her warm hand encircling his head, pulling him to her chest. _"I'm here now, to take care of you…We're family, you and I…I'll take care of you. I'll take care of everything."_

He could hear his partner's declaration, _"I'll find you, Hutch. I promise, hear me, I'll find you."_

"Star-sk," Hutch cried out for him.

And her…

"Sonora…."

He could see her so clearly. Crying for him. Her beautiful face stained with tears, her arms open…she needed him… wanted him.

He tried to reach out to them, but couldn't.

"Some help," he gasped.

**(tbc)**


	16. Chapter 16

My apologies, I haven't updated this since July!

My excuse-- caretaking a parent + mental stress = little time and energy for writing. (btw, not whining-- it's truly a blessing to be a helper to my dad-- he's a great guy!). When I first posted "Circle of Grief" I explained the story was finished, but needed revisions. That was the truth. But each revision, in each chapter, while it hasn't changed the end of the story -- it certainly has changed for me the way I want to take you there. And I can't short change this story or you guys --and just rush it to completion because it's taking me longer that I said it would—and cuz I know you folks following this story have patiently been waiting. I thank you for your patience and support--and in exchange, while it may take a few more months to end this fic-- I will try my hardest to make it worth your while. Okay-- I hope that's a bit of an olive branch! :-) I'm still committed to this story and will be finishing it! Probably another 2 to 3 chapters to go. Again many thanks to my dear friends Robbin (content/ grammar) & Sarah(beta/teacher), who have spent long hours of their precious time helping me-- and I'm forever grateful to them both. Any typos, happened in my final revision. I've always got a typo somewhere...sigh.

**This chapter reads much better if you've read the first story "Sonora".

So, here we go ...

**Circle of Grief: Chapt 16**

Starsky knew a trick. One he'd had too much practice at. He'd learned how to wake himself up. Not from a good-night's-rest sleep. Or an exhausted, grab-a-few-hours-of-shut-eye-sleep.

He'd perfected waking himself out of anesthesia-laced, _you're-in-the-hospital again-you-need-to-find-out-what-happened, where's-my-partner-sleep_.

Sleep, with the drugs in your system that they shot you up with for surgery, had a different feel to it than regular sleep. It was a heavy and oppressive weight, that kept pulling you down into a black hole, cutting you off from the world. Everything became absent, except for the taste of its bitterness in your mouth and constant nothingness.

He couldn't stand that nothingness. Not when he had so much life just on the other side of it. Starsky had tried all kinds of things to force his way from underneath its powerful control and he'd found something that worked every time. Two words--any combination, he'd repeat over and over and over, until his brain clicked on. Any two words he could string together, it didn't matter what they were or how long he'd say them, the point was, sooner or later, they would bring him back into the light, into the world, and to his partner.

Hutch? Oh God, Hutch had been shot. He needed to get to him.

**sOs**

_Thirty-dirty. Thirty-dirty. Thirty-dirty. Thirty...dir...dir..._

"Dave? Take it easy," August told him.

Starsky had to wake up-- his partner's life depended on it. Hutch's life.

No single bullet would stop him from protecting his buddy.

He attempted, unsuccessfully, to lift his head. August was looking down at him. Staring up at her blurred face, he frowned back at her. The woman who had dragged him and Hutch into this mess.

"They took it out...you're gonna be alright, Dave," she said, offering him a pathetic, assuring smile.

"Hu…" he asked. Fighting whatever it was he had been given to put him under, he tried to get up.

Hutch needed help.

"Be careful, you're stitched up," August cautioned, trying to restrain him.

He struggled to push her off. "Get 'way." He was groggy and disoriented, not even certain if he was sitting, standing or lying flat on his back, but he still remembered what part she had played in this thing. The female FBI agent was as much at fault for the bullets that had pierced their bodies as the guys that had pulled the triggers.

"Stop," she warned him.

"Whr…" His tongue, heavy and uncooperative. " .._utch?"_

"David, please… you need to…"

"Take me.. now." He managed to make his demand. Battling his dizziness, Starsky figured out he was on his back and he forced his body to sit up, groaning out loud at how much pain it caused.

"Fine," August said, helping him to get to his feet. The room spun around vertically and then made a horizontal flip. He sagged against her.

"He's over there," she steered him.

And his eyes found his partner.

Hutch - the palest Starsky had ever seen him - on a roll away hospital bed. His chest wrapped in white, the head of the bed tilted up. All of that meant that Archelaus had operated on his best friend.

Pissed, he groaned. "Told you…not to let him near…Hutch." Talking made him nauseous and he snapped his eyes shut.

"_He _saved his life. I watched everything." August defended going against Starsky's wishes, and allowing Dr. Archelaus to perform surgery on Hutch.

Starsky gave her a disapproving glare.

"I swear," she kept on assuring him.

Reaching his partner, Starsky's hardened demeanor faded. He took a long moment, worriedly studying him.

August spoke again. "I watched Archelaus the whole time, I swear."

Starsky didn't acknowledge her or the words she spoke.

"The only thing is...Dave, he's fighting a pretty bad infection. He's on an antibiotic...."

"How do you know that's what he gave him?" Starsky snapped back, wondering how she could trust a man like Sonora's doctor. After all he had done to Hutch in the past.

He moved in to get a closer look at his friend, brushing a hand down one of Hutch's bare arms.

"He's...hot," Starsky muttered, nearly tipping over onto the bed and his partner.

"Hey," August said with concern. "I told you-- you shouldn't be up yet. I'm taking you back to the cot," she said, attempting to maneuver him back to lying down.

"No," Starsky refused.

August, sighing, snared a nearby chair and steered him to sit. Starsky collapsed into it.

"C'mon, buddy," he pushed back Hutch's damp hair, then pressed the back of his hand against the pale face. "Damn, he's so hot."

**-sOs-**

_It was a lovely warm day, and Hutch stared up into the blue sky, fingers threaded through his hair. Soft lips brushed his cheeks and, closing his eyes, he waited for them to reach his mouth. When the glorious contact happened, he grinned through the tender kiss and slid an arm around Sonora, intensifying their closeness and passion__._

_He heard a cough. And looked up into his partner's face._

_He and Sonora sat up laughing._

"_Do you guys ever take a break?" Starsky, was smirking at them, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and a bunch of sunflowers in hand. _

"_Are those for me?" Sonora jumped up, rushing to hug him, and Starsky opened his arms to greet her. She grabbed the golden flowers, admiring them as she hurried off__. _

"_She's the best thing that ever happened to you," Starsky told him. The words, flowing like honey._

"_Everything' s alright, Starsk, isn't it?" Hutch asked for confirmation. "It's okay, then? Me and her? And you and me?" _

_The sun was so bright, hanging big and bright just behind Starsky. Its rays shooting out around the outline of his body like an enormous crown. _

_Starsky was smiling, nodding, "Yeah partner, we worked it out."_

_Yeah... the beams of sunlight touched him, warming his face and chest, and Hutch felt elated, like he could float away with them... _

_'...we worked it out...' _

_Then a dark cloud filled the sky, blocking the sun, and he heard her cry out. _

"_Sonora!" he yelled, running into the darkness."Sonora?" _

"_Ken! Help me..." _

_He turned around, frantic. Trying to find her. "Where are you?" he called out._

_The gossamer shadow eclipsed all the light, but not her cries for him... and Starsky was gone... swallowed up by the blackness. _

**-sOs-**

When Hutch woke up, soaking wet with fever and out of his head, he was asking for her.

"Easy, partner," Starsky tried to calm his friend, but Hutch's glazed stare looked right past him. "Sonora...where's....she..she took the sunflower…please...my wife...I..I need her..."

Starsky glared at August. "I knew it," he accused.

"Dave, it's the fever, that's all."

"That's all! He thinks he's still married to her—that's what!"

Hutch pulled at his shirt.

"Take it easy, partner, you been shot." Starsky explained, "You got a fever."

"Sh-she needs me…please—gotta tell her I'm alright…my wife. She needs me!"

Starsky could see the intensity of his pleas were building, and Hutch tried to raise up off the bed.

"Rest now," Starsky ordered, gently trying to stop him.

"Need to s-sse her… gotta see her...please… Sonora…" Hutch howled as his movement caused pain to shoot through him.

Starsky growled in defeat. "Okay…okay, buddy." He leaned over his friend, telling him, "I'll... I'll get her for you, kay? Hold on, partner, just hold on." And then to August, all the gentleness gone from his voice "—_where's she_?"

August nodded toward a shut door in a dark corner of the laboratory.

Starsky didn't bother to knock as he hipped open the door—almost falling forward as he did.

"Get in here!" Starsky yelled at her, more quietly…as if an admission of some horrid truth, he told Sonora. "He's asking for you."

She jumped up out of her chair, and zipped by him to the bed Hutch was in.

"I'm here, sweetheart," she said. "I'm here."

Hutch turned to her, his face flushed, and he smiled tiredly, lifting a hand to find hers. "I'm here, I'm here," she whispered.

"Oh," he said lovingly. "I-I --- couldn't find you…it was dark."

"That's alright, sweetie. I'm here now," she told him.

He gazed back, studying her face closely, "Wha—whats wrong?" he asked.

Sonora just shook her head, gently caressing one of his cheekbones. "You're doing okay, love," she told him. "You be strong for me, right?"

He gave her a faint nod.

Suddenly fearful, he looked around, "—Stars…whrss…he... _Starsky_?"

"Right here," Starsky answered, touching Hutch's arm to prove it, taking his hand and squeezing it.

Hutch's eyes drifted back and forth between Starsky and Sonora, wistfully looking up at them as if for the first time-- his two universes were in line---

A world where both his partner and his life with Sonora as his wife existed. Seemingly content, despite his physical discomfort – a righting of everything that had been wrong for the past year, a slight smile gracing his face, he squeezed Starsky's hand in return. A request for him to not disappear from this new world.

"D-don't...go," he murmured breathily.

"Not going anywhere," Starsky promised.

All night, the fever rode him like madness, but Hutch would still look for the presence of the two entities to not slip back into separate domains.

"_Starsk?_"

"I'm here."

"_Sonora_?"

And she would be there, too.

Once eying his partner's bandage, Hutch weakly lifted a hand toward it in concern. "M'fine." Starsky said.

Hutch's pain flared up and he cried out.

"S' okay, buddy. The bullet's outta you now, kay? You're just havin' a rough patch, boy," Starsky explained.

"Uhhh," Hutch groaned back in agreement. His eyes fluttered open, he was looking for her.

"Shhh, sleep, sweetheart," Sonora cooed softly. "Everyone's here."

Starsky eyed her as Hutch responded to the caress of her fingers on his cheek and the blissful countenance it sent flooding across his face.

-sOs-

Starsky, exhausted, had made his way back to the cot. He kept falling asleep and wouldn't be surprised if Archelaus had slipped him something extra to incapacitate him. He had decked the doctor after all.

Things were hazy, but he allowed his vision to rest on the sight of Sonora. She had slipped into bed next to Hutch and he could listen in on the words she spoke to him in a hushed tone.

"Love you, love you, love you..." she was mumbling and Starsky heard her sniffling back her tears.

He hated what was happening. He hated her—he wanted to hold onto that--but Starsky wasn't made of stone and he could hear in her litany something that sounded very much like love. Maybe there was a tiny modicum...some measly, paltry crumb of real compassion in the woman Starsky knew to be a killer. Sonora had ordered the death of countless men, and he'd seen for himself the sheer glee she'd had torturing Hutch back in that torture chamber of hers. How could _that _woman...be _this_ woman? Maybe...maybe in some far-fetched mystical metamorphosis-- somehow Hutch's love, despite the fact he didn't know who it was he was really giving it to-- just maybe some of that Hutchinson heart of gold had transformed Sonora Latrielle? No, even he, a witness to her being seemingly de-clawed, wouldn't believe that love could cleanse her contemptible soul. If she thought she loved Hutch, it was a love that was surely tainted.

Too bad she didn't have a clue of what that love of hers had done to Hutch.

It was twisted-- the roots of it coming out of something rotten and putrefied-- and if he'd had the strength, he'd leap out of his bed and rip her off of his friend. Banish her into the muddy depths of a hole in the center of the earth.

But Hutch, in his fevered and confused state, was trapped in a place and time where she was the woman he loved --- leave it to life to shake it all up and make something crazy a reality. At the moment, Hutch needed the love and comfort of Sonora.

And as much as it made him want to punch and puke, Starsky couldn't take that comfort away from his hurting partner.

Starsky groaned in frustration and Sonora raised a face wrecked by crying to him.

He shook his head in disgust in her direction and forced himself to sit up.

August rushed over to him. "Dave. Don't."

He pushed her assisting hand aside with his good arm.

"You don't want to pull the stitches," she reminded him again.

"Gonna check on him," he answered, tiredly.

"He's doin' okay." She halted his movement with an arm.

Her attempt to block him, after everything else she'd done, pissed him off. "Look, what I need you to do is get a car. _That's _what I need from you. As soon as we can move him, we're gonna get outta here. S'not safe. You dumped that van, but sooner or later, they're gonna find it. We left enough blood back there for them to know we'd be lookin' for help. Once they don't find us at any hospital nearby, they'll put two and two together and start searching for Sonora's doc."

"Dave." Her eyes were full of remorse and apology. Maybe she had finally realized how big a mistake she had made and how much harm she'd caused him and Hutch, but Starsky didn't have time for her regrets.

He shook his head, dismissing her comments while he reiterated his demand. Gritting teeth to bite back his pain. "I _just_ n-need you to get a car--a truck--a bus—sumpthin'. Can you do that?"

She nodded her agreement, dually acknowledging the guilt she was feeling, and Starsky's request. August would shelf her worthless apology. She had participated in some scheme against his partner—no better than what Sonora had done, really. There wasn't anything the agent could say to him to earn Starsky's forgiveness.

Especially not after Hutch just had a bullet dug out of his gut in some make-shift ER, by one of their most-hated enemies.

"Yeah," was all she said, before she bounded up the stairs.

A soft moan came from his partner and Starsky pushed himself off the cot, shuffling over to him.

The look on his face made Sonora relinquish her position as primary comforter, but she kept a hand on Hutch's shivering body.

Starsky gave her another disgusted glance before his expression softened.

"Hey, partner."

Hutch, responding to him, struggled to open his eyes. "Where?" he asked.

"Don't worry 'bout anything," Starsky answered.

"They're...shootin'," Hutch said, breathing hard, scared. "Get--get my gun," he told them, trying to sit up.

"No, Hutch."

"Stars-s hur-hurt," Hutch's voice hitched, he rolled the tip of his tongue over dry lips.

"I'm fine buddy. You're the one we're worried about," Starsky told him.

Disbelieving, Hutch tried to sit up again.

"No, c'mon. Rest now, boy."

Hutch groaned. A new round of tremors traitorously set off a jolt of pain through the bloody injury in his side.

"Sorry pal," Starsky said sympathetically. "We're gonna get you some help. I'm gonna get you outta here, kay?"

Hutch's eyes searched aimlessly.

"Ken," Sonora moved in closer.

Hutch took a shuddering breath, alarming both Starsky and Sonora when he fell out of consciousness. Leaving just inches between the two guardians of his wounded body.

"Is he okay?" Sonora asked.

"Yeah...think so," Starsky answered her naturally.

"I'll get Doctor..."

"No, just leave him. He's okay, he's just worn out."

There was a silence and then Sonora looked up into Starsky's face. "Why? Why did he do it?"

"Do what? Take that bullet for you? After what you did to him?" Starsky didn't hold back the anger the question had raised in him. "Damned if I know," he snapped back, letting the cruelty in the words resonate. Lying-- when he knew exactly why Hutch had sacrificed himself to save her. He'd seen Hutch put his life on the line time and time again, even for the vilest of low-lifes.

She was searching his face for understanding, understanding she wasn't deserving of. She didn't haven't a right to the suffering coming through her pained expression. It made him even angrier. "_What?_ You want to be the only one that hurts him?" Starsky took another swipe at her.

**-sOs-**

Half asleep, Starsky heard the sound of that unmistakable deep voice-- it sent a twinge of fear through all of his insides.

The Monster.

The three hundred and fifty pounds of muscle that had slung Hutch over his shoulder like he was a five pound bag of potatoes-- who had promised certain death for Starsky the next time they met face to face.

He should never have considered trusting any of them. Sonora, her doctor— now here was their enforcer. With the state him and Hutch were in, they were easy prey for the giant who could use a hand to smother to death a helpless Hutch or carry him off like last time. Starsky couldn't go through it again and Hutch wouldn't live through it.

Starsky scrambled to get to his feet, frantically searching the semi-dark room for a means of defense.

But August's voice told him to relax. "He's here to help," she added.

"Wha…? " a hurting, open-mouthed Starsky watched the bull of a man walk over to Hutch's bed, and bad memories of seeing the Monster tossing Hutch over his shoulder moved him to protest, "Stay away from him."

"Dave, you don't understand," August said.

Still in shock over the turn of events, Starsky turned to her. _"What have you done?" _

_**(tbc)**_


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm soo, soo sorry people. Caretaking a parent(even though my dad is a real sweetie) ap_parent_ly can make you dim-witted--zap your creativity . I just couldn't figure out how to adapt the changes I've been making all along in this fic to the ending I had planned. I seem to have finally sorted it all out. Next chapt won't be in two weeks, but I'm back on track again. My sincerest apologies to all who've been so patiently waiting on me. I'll be posting some other new fics along the way to show my appreciation, and my intention to keep this train moving. I'm ready to write again!! **

**Wonderful friends who have helped me stay sane, thank you--Robbin& Sarah(for the excellent beta help-- you guys are so very, very special!) Adrianne, Eileen, VC, Evad, and to my Wuemsel. I love you all lots!**

**(also, Janet and newby, thanks for ****your comment(s), I couldn't pm you guys back a reply)**

*******

**Circle of Grief: Chapter 17**

Starsky felt the fear pounding in his chest and ears. It cemented his feet to the ground and he breathed out hard from the surge of adrenalin rushing through him, as his eyes followed Monster's bulk and his enormous dark shadow filling up the room.

August was muttering calming words, encouraging him to relax, digging fingers into his good arm.

The only thought in his head was, _was he going to have to fight the giant?_ _If _Monster raised a hand to his wounded friend, then, _yes_, he was gonna fight him. Whatever the cost.

The big man and the dark cloud he cast came to a halt--just by Hutch's bed.

Starsky took a solid mental step forward, his gaze glued to the enormous hand reaching out. He watched Sonora Latrielle look up--choking back tears, she said in amazement, "_M?_ You--_you're here_?"

Starsky saw the man's head tilt forward. The giant gave her a warm smile, answering, "Yes. I'm here." He paused. That…huge hand of his was reaching for her. "Doctor Archelaus said you need to get some sleep before you fall flat on your face," he told her, guiding the tiny woman to her feet.

Sonora, protesting, shook her head, rambling a reply, "He…he…needs me…to take...take...care…he's asking for me…" She turned to look down at Hutch, touching him.

"Sleep a few hours. I'll stay with him. If he needs you, I'll get you," Monster said firmly. Sonora eyed him pitifully, but seemed to be doing what he had advised, hesitantly letting the giant lead her over to August. "Put her to bed," he told the female officer, his voice hushed and deep.

It was strange that August would follow his instruction--the FBI agent taking orders from an ex-hit man for the mob? - but she did.

Starsky was beginning to wonder if maybe he was having a twisted and drug-induced dream, one where his greatest fear and fantasy morphed into a bizarre fairytale. Should he expect that soon--a white rabbit would pop up from out of nowhere?

But there was no white rabbit, no dream…he rubbed a palm against the solid flesh of one of his thighs. No, this was reality. And that left him and Hutch alone with the wall of a man, who was both their enemy and an assassin.

The man who had not glanced at him once since he'd entered the lab was leaning over Hutch, talking to him in that same deep, hushed tone he had spoken to August in.

Starsky's full attention went to his wounded partner. Hutch's light lashes quivered open and he could hear the confusion in Hutch's softly uttered, "_F-Frank_?"

"Ken." The giant's response sounded kind. And one of those massive hands took hold of Hutch's searching one.

"No…no…chess today," Hutch muttered faintly to him.

"That's all right, man," Latrielle's bodyguard answered. "I understand--some other time. Way I remember it, last time we played, you kicked my butt pretty bad, anyway. "

Hutch's lip turned up slightly at the comment. "I know… you let me win," he said softly, his eyes three-quarters closed.

"_Wha…the heck_?" Starsky stood on wobbly legs as he kept his distance from the new visitor who finally looked up to address him.

"We need to get out of here before daylight. Won't be long 'fore they storm this place."

Starsky, instead of answering, squinted a quizzical stare back at the mob enforcer. Keeping a guarded demeanor, he took careful steps forward.

"I got an RV, harmless looking enough. You know, like a family vacationin' kinda thing. Plus, he can lie down," Monster said, keeping his down-turned gaze on the blond man in the bed. "That'll be best for him. Figure we should be hittin' the road in, ah, about twelve hours—that'll put it at around 5 a.m. Okay with you?"

Starsky's voice was absent, but he nodded his understanding and his agreement.

"_Frank?"_ Hutch called out. "Th-thirst…"

"Hey friend, got some water right here." Monster gracefully poured water from a silver pitcher into a glass, and gently lifted Hutch's head. Starsky saw his partner take a single gulp.

He continued his careful walking toward Hutch and his new nursemaid. Dumbfounded by the current state of affairs, Starsky was wondering again—maybe the pain throbbing through his right arm was making him hallucinate? He scrubbed at the exhausted burn in his tired eyes. Hoping the action would make the Monster, the man he feared more than any other human being, disappear. He forced his eyes open, and Monster remained—clear _and_ as big as day.

Latrielle's 350 pounds of muscle dropped his shoulders—signaling his approachability and Starsky immediately took his place at Hutch's side.

Monster talked down at the blanket he was tucking in around Starsky's best friend and not into Starsky's bewildered expression. "We're gonna have to make sure we secure him to keep him from bleeding out…uh and…" the big man stalled, studying Hutch's face closely, he sighed, before continuing, "Doc won't be going with us, too preoccupied with savin' his own butt. Said we need to keep him quiet, keep him still. That bullet went nearly all the way through—and he had to dig deep to get to it. If he starts bleeding again…"

Starsky's gaze traveled to Hutch's ashen face and he was moved to touch him.

Pressing fingers against warm flesh, reverential of the strength Hutch could and did take from the loving caress. Once again, he was awed by the bond they'd made, and his heart swelled.

Oh, and how much Hutch needed that…_his_ touch, the comfort...reassuring him that his partner was there, taking care of him.

Recognizing the solemnity of the moment, he quieted the impulsive fighter/protector inside him, which, under different circumstances, he wouldn't have been able to hold back from leaping at the man who had played a part in Hutch's suffering.

"If he starts bleeding, we don't got too long to get him to a hospital," Monster said plainly as he leaned his massive body back to give Starsky full access to his friend.

"He's gonna be alright," Monster added, assuring.

Starsky studied the man's face--for the first time, staring into his eyes and the compassion showing in them.

**-sOs-**

He thought they were his moans. Exhausted, he had fallen asleep, until the throbbing pain in his arm woke him. Realizing the mournful sounds were coming from his partner, Starsky jerked himself upright and stumbled over to him.

Hutch's eyes were wide open, his unseeing gaze accompanied by low, agonized groans.

Sonora was back tending to his friend, dabbing a cloth at the beads of sweat on his neck and face. "He's hurting," she told him.

Starsky, still unable to stomach the woman who was the cause of all the trouble they were in, answered tersely, "I know he's hurting." Then turning his concern back to his partner, the dark-haired man slid a thumb under his friend's damp bangs. Pushing them back from Hutch's forehead, consoling him. "Hey, buddy. It's me. How ya doin', huh?"

"Star..."

"That's right, Blintz. One and only."

Hutch's attempt to smile failed when another wave of pain forced him to clamp his mouth shut, his lower teeth grinding into his upper lip so hard, that Starsky was sure he'd break skin.

"Oh, oh…God, Starsk…" Hutch cried out.

Starsky, tearing up, bowed his head at the plea for help from his friend. He couldn't help him. "I'm here, buddy," he said. How feeble a fix for a bloody wound, fever, and infection. Monster's words reverberated in his head;

…_we need to keep him quiet, keep him still. That bullet went nearly all the way through and he had to dig deep to get to it. If he starts bleeding again…"_

He had to get his partner to a doctor, a real one— a hospital.

Hutch's groaning increased and Starsky was seeing red. Hutch needed help--NOW!

Starsky had to clear his head—had to get them both out this horrible situation. _Think! Think, Detective __Sergeant __Starsky!_ he ordered himself.

Footsteps; he looked up to see August coming down the stairs.

"We're getting' out of here, now!" He shouted at her. "He's hurting! This is my partner, hear me? I'm not putting him through anymore of…this… this freakin' insanity! _I'm getting him to a hospital!"_

Pacifyingly nodding her head, she tried to calm him with raised hands. "Of course we're going to get him to a hospital. I understand. I know, I know, Dave—but until that happens, we can make things easier for him."

"W-what?" Starsky stammered. "_Easier?_" These people were confounding. "What game now?" he spat out contemptuously. He just knew her comment was a lead into some other bull.

Hutch's searching hand reached for him and he looked away from the agent to take hold of it. His partner's shuddering body drew all of Starsky's attention. Whatever August was going to try and sell him was going to have to wait. Hutch tried to turn over onto his side, and Starsky gently tried to stop the action. "No, babe--just stay still for me, okay? Stay still, hear me?" A horrible image of Hutch's blood flowing scared him through and through and all he could think about was stopping that from happening. He eased his butt and legs into the bed. "C'mere, buddy." He gently guided his shivering partner into his lap. "There, you go, 'kay? I'm right here." He confirmed his closeness, wrapping his good arm around Hutch's chest while he whispered comforting words only Hutch could hear.

Looking up, he saw not only Sonora and August staring at them, but also the Monster. He was holding out a small, black leather case… syringes lining both sides of the opened container.

Starsky's gaze widened and his brain, even its enfeebled state, instinctively put together the 'one, plus one, equals' picture.

_They wanted to shoot his friend up with whatever was in those shiny glass tubes! _

He shook his head in protest. They were all eyeballing him... and Hutch. Sonora, August, and her huge bodyguard.

How had these crazy people insinuated themselves into his and Hutch's life? They could all go to hell, because they, he and his partner both, were done with them and with this whole stinking assignment. He was done negotiating with them about taking care of his wounded partner. He had to get him and Hutch out of there, before they killed Hutch. Starsky's heart was beating wildly, and his blond friend must have picked up on it, because Hutch, becoming more anxious, clutched at his shirt, laying a hot hand on his neck. Starsky looked down into his friend's face and the agony that filled every inch of it. Hutch's eyes …what he saw in them nearly gutted him. So much hurt.

"Getting you outta here, partner," he promised him, lips pressed to Hutch's hot temple. "Getting some help, I swear, Hutch."

"_Dave?"_

He turned to August and the desperation in her voice. "No," he was quick and firm with his refusal.

"Why?" She yelled back. "Why let him suffer? How can you do that--"

"No! No! NO! You're not shooting him up with that junk! How do you even know what's in there? No!"

"You're acting like a madman. Just trust…"

"_**Trust!**_" he roared. How dare she ask him to do that! Protectively drawing Hutcheven **closer. **"Trust? _You're_ asking me to trust--trust who? Which one of you, huh? You, August, huh? After the way you took advantage of him being messed up? 'Member?"

"Dave…"

"No! Or--_**her**_?" Starsky continued his stripping down of these people who had harmed them, jutting his chin at Sonora, glaring. "Trust _her_—that's what you're asking? She's a psychopathic, spoiled, washed-up mafia princess! _Or him_?" He frowned, bravely directing his comment directly to the big man, who had spent years enforcing mob retribution.

"_Spoiled!_" Sonora cried out in outrage. "I am _not_ spoiled!"

Everyone's heads turned to her, and the absurdity of the raven-haired woman only finding fault with that part of his harsh judgment of her.

Starsky rolled his eyes upward. He couldn't take another minute of this insanity. He closed his eyes, shutting them out, resting a cheek on Hutch's head. Hutch was his home, his peace; and he was the same for his partner and Starsky couldn't let anything else cause him more pain. He tried to block out their voices, pulling the body he held into an even stronger embrace. His partner was much, much too hot. Hutch whimpered and moaned softly. "I'm gonna get us outta here." Starsky whispered his plan one more time, gently carding fingers through his friend's sweat-soaked, flaxen hair. " Who'd we trust--me and thee, right, pal?" Hutch was counting on him, and he was bound and duty-driven-- to get himself and his partner away from this insanity. Yeah, that's exactly what he was going to do.

Starsky started talking. "Me…and my partner…are going our own way…from here on out. I just need a car…"

Now they were gawking--stunned.

"Are you serious? And you call _me_ crazy? You _must_ be kidding!" Sonora argued bitterly. "And just how far do you think you're going to get. Remember--you're just out of surgery. What if you pass out somewhere, then what? What happens to Ken? And-- what about those men on a mission, the ones carrying guns-- and pictures of you and

Ken in their jacket pocket..."

Starsky, ignoring the ex-mobster heiress, shot a hard look and an order at August. "Get us a car, Agent Moon. That's the least you could do."

"Dave, I can't let you leave. You're being stupid. I won't help you do this…"

"You..." Starsky bit back his curses. "Forget it! I'll do it myself. We don't need you, you been nothin' but trouble for us, the whole assignment…"

"That's neither here or there, right now we're talking about giving Ken some relief." August pointed to the black case filled with hypodermic needles.

They weren't backing off, weren't going to stop running their mouths--and all he wanted them to do was take their vials and their unsolicited input and just leave him and his hurting partner to themselves.

"How the hell are we supposed to know what's in those?" Starsky was livid. "No--no way!"

Monster offered an explanation, "This side— " he jabbed a thick finger at the right-hand part of the case, "...ah, doc said these are the antibiotics… and the others are for pain."

Starsky felt Hutch moving, his discomfort growing. "Sorry. Sorry, partner," Starsky murmured into his ear.

August, keeping the pressure on him, jumped in with her opinion. "If Archelaus wanted to kill Ken, he could have done that during his surgery, sliced an artery or something, None of us the wiser. C'mon, Dave, you're not thinking straight."

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to let you stick Hutch with one of those and wait to see if whatever's inside of it stops his heart from beating or takes his pain down?"

"Poppi wouldn't do that, he gave me his word," Sonora added her measly two cents.

How dare she! "_His word_? Right …_his word. _Thanks for reminding me what an honorable guy your mad scientist is..." Starsky disputed her sarcastically, ready to rip into her with more verbal jabs, but stopped talking when he saw shock registering on both faces of the women arguing with him.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" August shouted, and she was moving. Starsky's eyes followed her sudden, bolting motion. And his gaze came to settle onto Monster, who was seated, looking down at his arm and the syringe he had just injected into it.

_What?_

The giant man's dark hair had fallen forward, nearly covering his face.

Starsky was stupefied into silence by the big man's action --of volunteering himself to be a guinea pig, putting his own life on the line to keep Hutch's from further harm. Wasn't this the same "Monster" that had thrown Hutch over his shoulder and onto Sonora's waiting helicopter? Who had stolen his partner from him for those so many agonizing months?

Sonora rushed over to her bodyguard, too. Apparently uncertain herself about what might happen to him, despite her protest that Dr. Archelaus wouldn't try and kill Hutch with some kind of poisonous concoction.

Their incredulous stares stayed on the big man…the minutes slowly ticking off.

Finally, Frank belatedly lifted his face to them…his mouth curling into an affected grin. He announced, "Oooh yeah. It's happy juice allll right. Docs usually hafta give me a mega dose to put me out—but this is def...deffa...definitely takin' me to a gooood place."

August laughed out loud at his slurred statement, whipping back around to Starsky with a raised eyebrow. "Okay?" she begged for his permission.

Starsky stalled, overwhelmed by the circumstances, he didn't know what to think any more. Maybe what he needed to do was-- stop being on the defense, stop _reacting _like a victim, and start thinking like a cop. He'd had training to handle himself and to save a wounded partner if he had to. Maybe the situation wasn't identical to the scenarios they'd run in the academy, but he and Hutch had cut their teeth on the streets of Bay City, had faced all kinds of dangers and threats. The same teachings, the same principles still applied. If he was pinned down in a dark alley or abandoned warehouse, under fire, and Hutch was wounded-- instinct and training would kick and in, and he wouldn't hesitate. He'd stabilize his partner's condition as best he could, and then he'd risk it all and call in the troops...get backup.

Get backup.

A surge of hope rushed though him, and he nodded his head, confidently acknowledging to himself his next move.

"Dave?" August came closer, waiting expectantly for his answer.

His jaw clenching, he gave it, "Sure, sure." She moved to touch Hutch and he grabbed her wrist. "You give Hutch the meds, and soon as I'm sure he's resting easy, I'm going for a ride..."

"_What_? You can't drive that RV with one arm, Dave."

"I'll manage. Keys," he demanded, holding out his hand.

"_Are you negotiating with me--- over getting some relief to your partner?_"

"No," Starsky responded plainly. "There's no negotiating going on here. I'm telling you how it's going down. Once Hutch is taken care of, I'm gonna handle some business, on my own." His steel-blue stare reinforced his ardent demand. "_Trust me_." Starsky threw back in her face the same thing she had sought from him.

The irony made Agent Moon frown. Trying to calculate her next move, she prudently studied him. It was obvious that she was powerless to change his mind. They both knew that. The Bay City cop's view of her was too tarnished. August stuffed a hand into her jacket and turned over the keys.

"Whatever," the agent spat out. She took a seat on a corner of the bed.

Starsky snatched up the keys, stuffing them into a pocket, and immediately assisted her in administering to his partner the medicine he hoped and prayed would help him.

**~sOs~**

With his good hand, he pulled the jacket thrown over his shoulders together, battling the cold rain pelting down on him. Drenched and shivering, he slammed the phone booth door shut and whipped the phone off its cradle. Punched a single number.

Starsky's eyes searched the dark and shadows surrounding him, "Collect call..." he roughly barked at the operator on the other end of the line.

**~sOs~**

Dobey could feel his officer's heartache, shared it, but Starsky needed him to be a general right now, not a concerned father. "I'm thinking one thing's for sure-- you can't come in. Not until I make sure something's in place. We got FBI spooks all over the place, and one of 'em is hot-wired to drop a dime to the mob as soon as they get a beat on your location. Word is that they've got 'anything goes' orders when it comes to stopping Latrielle from making that Grand Jury appearance. With both you and Hutch being worse for the wear, last thing you need right now is having a gun battle with a crew of their guys."

"We never had a chance Capt'n…" Starsky mumbled.

The regret and exhaustion in the cop's voice made Dobey's heart sink to his aching stomach. He'd been wrought with worry from the day since his two detectives had taken on the job of bringing in Sonora Latrielle.

"Listen, Starsky," Dobey said, grinding a fist into his desk, "I'm gonna move heaven and earth. You hear me, Dave? I'm pullin' you and Hutch outta there."

A shuttered breath was the only reply the commanding officer received in return.

"Detective, you don't go givin' up on me-- and tell Hutchinson the same thing."

More breathing.

Dobey understood exactly how much he was asking from the desperate cop on the other end of the phone. Of course Starsky had to have doubt. These two officers, his detectives, the best men he had working under him-- had been royally screwed by 'cops' on their last two assignments. The first assignment, Hutch had been tortured and kidnapped because of a leak at the Bureau and now, Starsky had just told him, Hutch had been critically wounded and an army of hitmen were on their tails.

The captain had spent the last few days working out in his head a backup plan for Ken and Dave if things had gone sour. Dobey knew exactly what he had to do to get his guys out of the line of fire.

"Starsky, do you trust..."

"_Why is everybody asking me that_?" Starsky yelled into the phone.

Dobey, unfrazzled by the outburst, let his man calm down some before he continued, "Look, Dave, I don't know what's going on out there-- but I'm asking you, how much you trust me? Cuz I want you…need you to keep your head on straight...until I can put something together. You know me, Dave--I don't leave my boys out in the cold, never did, never will. I'm bringin' in my own people on this one. I don't want you to have to worry about who's working this thing with me. You did the right thing calling me, and I'm gonna do right by you and Hutch. You hear me?"

There was no answer.

"I know you're tired Starsky..." They both knew Starsky, being the smart cop he was, had to be hesitant about saying too much on a precinct phone that was probably bugged.

"Okay, Cap'n. Ten-four," was the reply he got back.

Captain Dobey, now relied on his paternal connection to these men, who were so dear to him and his family, to communicate a message only to the person he was talking to, and not to any unseen listeners. "Son....not too long ago, you had to make a call to give me some bad news..."

"Cap'n?"

"...found a friend of yours hurting...in an alley..."

"Uh-huh."

No one else, except Bernie and Huggy, had knowledge about that day Starsky had found Hutch after Ben Forest's goons had juiced him full of heroin.

"...you made contact with me to tell me the bad news..."

"Right," Starsky answered him, careful not to reveal any details.

Dobey continued. "...where you stowed him away. Reach me there at 0-700."

The police captain was already mentally running down the list of friends—retired cops, and life long army buddies, he could trust to rescue his own flesh and blood.

"Hutch...he's gonna need medical help," Starsky reminded him.

Dobey had already thought of that, "They'll be on the ground with me, when we touch down." He was letting his officer in need know that there would be helicopters. Their back-up was coming --and Dobey would be pulling no stops on the rescue operation.

"One more thing, Dave-- I'm going underground, so, you can't reach me. Not here, andnot at home." It was the only sure way to shake the tail that Dobey was creatively revealing to Starsky was on him—probably the Bureau's guys and most likely the mob, too. Both organizations desperate to get a line on their location and to Sonora Latrielle.

Harold Dobey didn't have to add that he'd be sending Edith and the kids to some place safe, too. Starsky knew about the Dobey family emergency plan –where his captain would call and give his wife a single sentence that would send her into the living room closet to drag out their emergency travel bags and pack their children into the car for a trip to a safe house out of town.

"What about her?"

"Latrielle? Dobey clarified. "We'll deal with that later. Right now, let's work on bringing all of you in--safe and sound."

The big man crunched on some antacids, worriedly sighing, "_Ken_?" Dobey was asking Starsky for more information on his badly wounded detective's condition.

"He took a slug to the gut, pretty deep…bullet's out."

But Dobey heard all of what Dave wasn't saying. He'd done two stints in the army. And had seen guys with poorly treated gunshot wounds....fever, infection, pain, too much blood loss. All of it life-threatening. He wanted to know more--how the surgery went down? And where? What was Hutch's temperature? Did he know what was happening to him?—All those disheartening details, they would discuss later. Now wasn't the time.

"Like I said, you tell him _I_ said--Hold on. That's an order. You tell him."

"I will."

"And Starsky..."

"I know, Cap'n. I will."

The phone clicked, the line went dead. Starsky had hung up.

(tbc)


	18. Chapter 18

Hey, I'm just too embarrassed about how long its taken me to update this story- that I won't even run down the list of my usual excuses.

I'm just very sorry- my apologies to everyone out there who was waiting on me.

I absolutely will finish this story. Just about two, maybe three more chapters to go.

Gonna clean up one of my never posted, finished shorter fics and throw it up by the end of the week~just to express my love and appreciation.

There's not a lot of action in this chapter, but some critical character stuff had to happen here for this chapter to be the launching pad into the 'action-packed' finale of this story.

Thanks so much to all those who have been reviewing & posting fb here or sending it me directly. You make me smile.

Peace

Circle of Grief: Chapter 18

~**sos~**

_A__ host of ghostly forms with distorted faces and voices; pain, cold, and prickling heat. That was the world Hutch was living in until the invasion of narcotic numbing crept and crawled through his chest, legs and arms. The invader settled in his head, tugging and jerking out random thoughts and memories. Scrambling the words he tried to put together and speak._

_Starsky's strong hands were on him, and his soothing words had coddled and kept him sane and breathing. His partner was promising to save him. From what, he wasn't sure, but Hutch knew he was in big trouble because of the rolling pain that kept washing over him like a tidal flood. He had called out for his friend's merciful caring, for his help; reaching out of the devouring depths of misery to hold onto Starsky until the possessiveness of this new world left him floating in an opiate-invented dreamtime. He reached out to touch and caress the visions and pulled away from the bad ones - bloated, scary expressions of gnashing teeth and mocking laughter. He crawled into the bosom of loving arms, the ones that had held him before, grateful to stay with those memories of being with people who loved him. Sonora, his loving wife, and his new friend Frank, who had come to help him, and as always, there was Starsky. Always there to protect and save him from the__ demons chasing after him._

**~s~**

"Finally sleeping. Thank God," Starsky sighed, gently gliding fingers in roundabout, small circles across Hutch's knuckles. He mindfully studied the blond man's face, quantifying every twinge or twitch of discomfort.

After August had assured Starsky that she was trained and absolutely capable of administering the pain medicine, it was only minutes until he had felt relaxation invade the body he held close to his.

Shortly after that, Starsky had crawled out from under his friend and had forced himself to leave Hutch's side to call Dobey. When he should have been getting some rest for the challenges of the next day, he'd dragged a chair to sit bedside and watch over his buddy. And now Hutch was sleeping; fitful, drug-induced dreams, making mumbled and jumbled words escape his partially opened mouth.

"Wondering what you're dreamin', pal," Starsky said, affectionately pulling the sheets and blanket further up his partner's chest. He moved in closer. "Must be a good one," Starsky commented at the near smile on Hutch's face.

**~o~**

_**Finally, Dr. Archelaus's fiddling around with his medicine had worked! He had been feeling on top of the world for weeks now. **_

"_**There's no way!" somebody behind him shouted.**_

_**Tying a big red and white plaid napkin around his neck, Sonora giggled in his ear. "You can take him!" **_

_**Both he and Frank watched the waiters put the platters on the table in front of them.**_

"_**I can't believe they had TWO 4-pound lobsters," his eyes widening at the feast before him.**_

_**Frank, stuffing a napkin into his shirt collar, was grinning at him and winking. "Just so you know, Ken - you can call this whole thing off."**_

_**He feigned insult at the suggestion. "Nope, let's do it, pal," he said, pausing only to add a comedic p**__**unch to the boast. "Four pounders, hah! I've eaten bigger than this for a midnight snack."**_

"_**Really!" an inebriated Frank chuckled. **_

_**Everyone, including the waiters, laughed and Jonah, the restaurant owner, chimed in**__**;"We better put another pot on, then! I've got a couple more almost as big as these two in the kitchen. You guys just give me the sign!"**_

_**His expression must have gone sour, because Frank roared with laughter. "More ale!" the big man declared, lifting up an empty pitcher and passing it off to one of the servers.**_

_**They drank and ate the wonderful sweet and succulent lobster – he sucked the meat out from every one of the creature's appendages. Sonora urged him onward, rubbing at the fullness of his belly and coaching his victory with kisses, occasionally sneaking pieces of the lobster to help him across the finish line.**_

"_**Hey! I see you cheating," Frank said out of a corner of his mouth. Cracking a big red claw with his bare hands. **_

"_**My honey — she's just getting the scraps!" he said, defending his wife.**_

**~s~**

Deeply entrenched in a narcotic haze more than restful sleep, Hutch's head rolled toward him and back in the other direction, his eyes speedily moving under closed lids.

"She's gett'n ….scraps," Hutch muttered out loud.

"Oh, she is, huh?" Starsky warily kidded his talking-in-his-sleep friend, sliding a comforting squeeze up Hutch's warm-to-the-touch arm. He still was worried about Archelaus's drugs coursing through his partner's body and the harm they could be inflicting on him. At the very least, it was obvious to Starsky that the pain meds were a very strong narcotic. Exactly the kind of drug Hutch would beg him not to let a doctor administer to him if he was in any condition to refuse it. He sighed. Seven a.m. seemed so far away. He bowed his head, praying that Dobey would be able to do what he'd promised. Hutch stirred again, and Starsky gently rubbed a palm up and down his friend's arm. "Ssh," he urged his blond partner to rest.

**~o~**

"_**Hey, no cheating," Frank scolded him mildly.**_

_**Sonora, cuddled up close, was speaking softly, promising a night filled with amorous adventure if he was the winner of the food eating contest. But all her talk only served to distract, and soon he'd forgotten about the overflowing platter of lobster and french fries.**_

_**He was only hungry for one thing…his wife…her smooth, silky skin and luscious kisses... the warmth between her thighs… Somehow when they were together, he could feel something that had long been closed open up to her… baring his naked soul and flesh to her completely… every touch**__**, every shared and met movement lifting him to a place of deeper surrender. Her whispered words and lustful utterances commanded his entire being…he was lost inside her and never wanted to find his way out.**_

_**He was breathing hard from his yearning, his wanting of her, and heard voices**__**; Frank telling the owner to throw the other lobsters in a bag. Sonora was taking his hand, leading him to the car. He was so hot for her.**_

_**~o~**_

"How's he doin?'"

The Monster was looming over them.

"He's getting some rest." Starsky was surprised at how easy his reply came out to the big man, who held out a white bag which was emanating the glorious smells of the kind of food Starsky had a hankering for. He was starving. Didn't even remember the last time he'd eaten, but he couldn't even make a move for the food.

Sonora's bodyguard eyed him. Starsky could swear that the big man's face registered understanding at his refusal to take what he was offering. "Look," he said. "Best thing you can do for him," he looked down at Hutch, "is to get your strength up. You know what we're up against."

Of course Starsky knew what they were up against.

A blood-thirsty battalion of hit men with guns. At least one FBI rat looking to retire early by filling up his bank accounts with money stained with his and Hutch's blood… and having to fight them all off one-handed. Not knowing whose side August was playing on – and barely able to stand another minute with the woman they were supposed to be protecting. Heck, he didn't even care what happen to the witch who had screwed up their lives, _or_ this giant ex-mob enforcer, latter day 'hero', playing games with his head._ Yeah_—

He knew exactly what the deal was. But, until Dobey showed up, Starsky was going to have to play the hand he and Hutch had been dealt. Monster, for whatever reason, was, oddly enough, the best offer on the table.

And he was so hungry.

He sat up, still hesitant, until his rumbling stomach compelled him to reach out for the hefty bag with his good arm.

The giant nodded towards an area in the lab where they could eat the food he'd gotten them.

Before joining the big man who, hours earlier, trying to protect Hutch from any more harm, had stuck himself with a hypo of the mystery drugs Archelaus had given him, Starsky took a long careful look at Hutch. He lightly patted the blanketed chest, communicating his undoubtable return.

He took a seat across from Monster and tore into the sack of food, pulling out the first thing his fingers found. A big, fat, cheeseburger. "Terrific." The exclamation slipped out as he immediately began peeling back its foil wrapper to take a big bite. Another one, even bigger quickly followed it.

He ate with impulse and instinct, not allowing his brain to interrupt him with all the implications and irony involved in him breaking bread with the enemy. This was a strange new world, and the best he could do in this place he found him and his best friend stranded in was to focus on his own and his partner's survival. Eat and stay strong.

He chomped down a couple more bites and pulled out the can of soda from inside the bag of food. All the while, his eyes stayed glued to the other man at the table.

Watching turned to fascination.

The bruiser of a man easily and very adeptly polished off two double burgers, two orders of crinkle-cut fries, onion rings, a gigantic chocolate shake, several brownies - and a bag of chips close by were sure to be consumed.

Monster, not bothered by his, observer, brushed a napkin over his lips, answering the question he knew Starsky had to have in his head. "What? I'm a growing boy-"

An 'Aha' moment! Something clicked, came together, finally making sense about Hutch's baffling change in eating habits.

_What? I'm a growing boy-_

That was exactly what Hutch had said to Starsky after he'd criticized that double-bacon-heart-stopper-breakfast sandwich with a side of sausage Hutch ordered when they were out on the road.

Now the reason for that sandwich and for Hutch's strangely-fueled appetite might very well be sitting right in front of him.

"I like to eat, alright," Sonora's bodyguard continued to explain.

Starsky shook his head, frowning both at the thought of_ her_ name and at the mystery of Hutch's insane eating habits having been solved; he clued the large man in on his realization, accusing, "_You're the one._"

"Huh?"

"You! _You're_ the one who's got Hutch eating like a sumo wrestler trying to fatten up for a title match." Starsky was pissed and he tossed his partially eaten burger down to confront the man who was more than twice his weight and size.

"What?" Monster shrunk back from the sudden change in Starsky's attitude.

"Hutch - h-he hardly ever ate this kind of junk. He was a health nut...protein shakes, twigs and berries….tofu and the likes… you screwed him up."

There was a boatload of accusation and hostility attached to the indictment that had nothing to do with Hutch's eating habits, and both men knew it.

"Oh." Frank spoke softly, looking down to hide his guilt and remorse over the part he'd played in messing up the blond-haired cop he now thought of as a friend.

"I'm sorry," he said, hardly withstanding Starsky's inflamed glare.

"We shared a lot of meals," Frank confessed, cautious and tentative. "…We, ah, hung out a lot, you know. I was, ah, supposed to be watchin' him and all, but me and him - _Ken - _we hit it off. Who would have thought – me and –_ a cop - _would become buddies? And he was doing alright, in the beginning. He was okay. Except, cuz of Dr. Archelaus jacking up his memory, well, when it came to mealtime, most of the time he wasn't sure about what he liked, so he'd just eat what I ate."

Starsky's scowl and temper deepened.

But the big man kept talking. "It got to be kind of a joke 'tween us. Like a game, and sometimes we would compete to see who could eat the most. You see it all goes back to Sonora's pop and me, we used to have these, um, these big, nine course meals at home. Indulgin' me with all that food, well, that's how the old guy showed me he appreciated me handling certain, um, _things_ for him. He really spoiled me that way, and I guess...guess I just wanted to do the same for Ken."

Starsky took a few minutes to picture his best friend and the giant bodyguard '_hanging out' _together. The images of the suggested camaraderie surprisingly spurring jealousy. "You make it sound like he was at summer camp," he spat out bitterly.

There was a moment of silence. The quiet only ignited a spark. Starsky's rage flashed across his face. He stood up, defiant; knocking the food Monster had given him onto the floor.

Latrielle's protector remained seated, his hooded eyes cast downward. "You got questions?" the big guy said, carefully offering the only penitence he could give to the partner of the cop he'd helped Sonora kidnap.

Starsky, thrown aback, blinked at the upfront approach. "Wha…?"

_Questions?_

About what had happened to Hutch when he'd been snatched…brainwashed… and kept for Sonora Latrielle's personal use and pleasure? Of course; he had hundreds of them.

All the questions that had haunted him during Hutch's absence he still didn't have the answers for filled his head.

How long was it before Hutch had gotten some real medical attention after he was taken? What techniques had Dr. Archelaus use to break him? Starvation? Pain? Terror? Was Hutch asking for him? What had they told him about Starsky not being there to help him? When had everything in his partner's memory about Bay City slipped away? _Why_ had Sonora done this?

So many questions.

He couldn't stop wondering about how Hutch must have needed him; how much had he suffered?

Quite unexpectedly, all his intense feelings and dreams of revenge and retaliation jammed in his throat. Emotions choking him and all he could manage to say was; "Well, yeah… I guess I do…I never thought…I mean…"

No immediate question broke free from his muddled mind, only the gut reaction of unsettled pain and Starsky said; "That tore me up - what you did to him…"

Frank, now the observer, watching him, wasseeing how he was wrestling with the ire and anguish colliding and twisting up his insides.

The weight of all that was happening, bearing down on Starsky, slowly deposited him back in his seat. He looked at the man he'd hated, trying to understand why he wasn't trying to choke the life out of Monster after everything he'd done to his partner.

The two men sat, neither speaking as they each let the impact of the simple words settle in their spirits. The release, the truth, the sorrow in them charged the atmosphere with the complete and utter fullness of Starsky and Hutch's pain and Frank's shame.

Both understood there was something terribly deep and profound shifting and forming between them. Something cataclysmic and peculiar that shouldn't be happening - but was.

And Frank started speaking, softly, in the kind of diplomatic manner, he must have spent years hearing being used to squash mob family disagreements. Mimicking in perfection the mob-talk melody as the tried to forge a peace agreement between himself and the dark-haired police sergeant. How ironic that the formality of such tradition and speech was coming out of his mouth not to facilitate the end of some opposing family spat over drug money or territory—but to seek to forge an alliance ...with a cop. "Firstly, I mean no disrespect. For all the harm done to you and to your partner, I deeply apologize. And by no means do I suggest what your partner went through was a walk in the park. I seen with my own eyes how much he was hurting. Towards the end… your buddy, he had some really bad times. Those headaches would wreck him; he'd be throwing up all day, not able to keep anything down. It got to the point I couldn't stand seeing him being that sick anymore. _This whole thing_...started cuz Zak Latrielle raised a kid who's too spoiled for anybody's good." The big man sighed and hung his head. "Ken didn't deserve to die cuz she wanted to play games with his head. Those pills he was gettin' were gonna kill him. And if Ken hadn't figured out how to make a run for it, _I swear,_ I woulda got him out of there myself." He paused. "You see, Dr. Archelaus never woulda stopped playing god. He's all about the power; the science and the money. It didn't matter to him how sick Ken got. He wanted results. The drug he was giving to Ken, if he could prove what he was after, he would have made a load of dough."

"Bastard," was Starsky's quietly spoken response.

"Look- I know," the big man's deep voice quivered as he dropped all formality to speak from his heart,"I know I made a lotta mistakes in my life - _some,_ I don't got regrets about. But...man, once I got to know Ken, I knew I couldn't keep going along like it didn't matter what you did to another person. I mean, just cuz you have the money or power to do whatever you want to somebody - just cuz you could - it doesn't give you the right." The big man's gaze lifted up to meet Starsky's. "I don't want to ever do nuthin' I regret – the way I regret carrying your partner outta that dungeon. I know it messed him up, and messed up all the people who care about him. You may not believe it, but I do get it. Just cuz I been a handler for the mob, doesn't mean I got a heart 'o stone. But sometimes…when you don't got anyone around who cares about you, _really cares about you_-you forget how to be human. How to be… honorable. That ain't no excuse for what I did - I'm just tellin' you how it was, how _I_ was. Your buddy, he taught me a lot about how to be honorable, about how to be man. Once I saw what kind of guy he was…." Frank's eyes moved to land on the wounded cop in the bed, thoughtfully reflecting, "I knew what kind guy I wanted to be."

The unexpected, elegantly delivered speech came to a close when one of Monster's larger than life hands came up to his chest, his brown eyes glistening bright with restrained tears. "His heart, man, you know?" He shook his head as if still amazed about what he had learned about the blond cop.

More a statement then question. Starsky knew exactly what the big man had been blessed enough to be a witness to. The undefinable spirit of the man he'd come to call his brother. Hutch.

"Yeah…he's sumthin," he found himself softly concurring, quietly honoring the man who was his partner and best friend.

The bodyguard looked him straight in the eye. "I swear, man, _anything_ I can do to help you guys. Don't make up for what happened-I know. But I'm dedicated… understand?" he vowed.

The big man's eyes were wet.

The Bay City cop, undone by the turn of events, had to look away from him and wondered out loud. _"You asking me to trust ya?_" The tone in his voice conveyed the absurdity of the situation. That question again! Was life…was _God_ trying to dismantle his sanity?

"No, that's asking too much. But I'm still gonna have you guys' backs out here. That's all I'm saying," the big he promised.

Starsky didn't blink an eye.

"Anyway," he said, gathering up his greasy trash, "I mean what I said, Sarge. I'll protect him with my life. You got my word."

They studied each other for close to a full minute.

"Your partner, he calls me Frank. You can do the same."

He left Starsky sitting alone, the dark-haired man's own appetite spent. Almost breaking out in a maniacal giggle over that absurd question of trust having raised its ironic head again.

**(tbc)**


	19. Chapter 19

(** Author's Note: Well, my dear sweet beta, Sarah, is busily working on her Masters. I'm thrilled for her and suggested she concern herself with her studies. So this chapter and the rest of the chapters of this story won't have her amazing beta fixes. *sniff-sniff*-but, wait! Stepping in to help me out, another sweetie- Adrianne! She's not a beta, but she is a very talented writer with a great eye, who offered up some suggested changes and pretty flourishes- which I gladly accepted! Thanks, friend!)

Circle of Grief: Chapter 19

_**A jolt of fire blasted into his flesh, yelping in agony, he curled into a ball, weakly trying to crawl away from the cattle prod. The little old man torturing him was chuckling, swiftly following up with another attack to his left buttock and Hutch instinctively flipped onto his back. Leaving his chest open to the next assaulting shock from the instrument he was being tortured with. His body shook uncontrollably and the words he cried out in protest, nonsensical- vacillating in volume and intensity. He sounded like a blubbering idiot, shamed, furious, and terrified, he rolled around on the cold cement like a helpless, caged animal. **_

**~s~**

"Nu—nu- no more," Hutch had cried out from his feverish sleep, attempting a jerk at the restraints across his chest and thighs.

"Ken, be still, sweetie." A beleaguered, and wild-eyed looking Sonora laid her head on his shoulder, whispering to him, her fingers tugging, and stroking his sweat-dampened hair. "You have to be still, honey. _Pleasee_…'

August, quickly rose from her seat in the back of the Winnebago. "Ken, it's alright," she chimed in with an effort to keep the wounded man calm, at least until Starsky was back from making the call he was so adamant about making at 7 a.m. They—an odd collection of traveling companions; two wounded Bay City cops, an M.I.A. FBI agent, and a couple of ex-mobsters on the run - had all packed up and settled into the vehicle just as the sun was rising. Monster, exhibiting his strength, carefully picked up the six foot blond-haired cop in his arms like he was carrying a kid up to bed. What a sight that had been, one she wouldn't soon forget Then there was there was Starsky-at the giant man's heels like a guard dog, ready to snap at him, if Sonora's enforcer made the slightest wrong move, and caused his hurting partner anymore pain.

Once inside the motor home, which was surprisingly roomier inside than the outside suggested, Starsky and Frank had spent quite a bit of time using strips of torn sheets to make sure Hutch was tightly, but comfortably secured to the pullout bed in the vehicle.

She didn't know where Sonora's bodyguard had gotten the mini house on wheels from, but even though it looked like a disarming piece of junk on the outside—inside, it was

scrubbed spotless, and filled with all the first aid, food, and amenities they would need for the journey ahead. There was also an ominous-looking army chest, adorned with a massive lock- the FBI agent was sure it was filled to the top with all kinds of weaponry to handle any 'trouble' they might run into.

She closely examined the distressed blond cop who's upper body was elevated by a bounty of pillows, wondering if she should administer more pain meds to Ken Hutchinson. _Without Dave there?_ It probably wouldn't be a good idea. Starsky would probably blow up in her face if she didn't wait to get his okay. He wasn't at all happy about filling his partner up with the medicine Dr. Archelaus had handed off to give to the man he'd harmed so cruelly in the past. Even though the pain medicine didn't seem to have any ill effect on the giant, seeing him inject himself first to make sure the drugs were safe for Ken- well, that was a real shocker.

Monster worked non-stop for the last eight hours - she'd been watching him. August had seen and heard him giving orders to the shadow crew of Archelaus's security, handing out explicit instructions and growling out his displeasure when they weren't followed to the letter. The FBI agent had honestly been impressed with the leadership skills of the three hundred plus pound man, most probably would write off as all muscle and no brain- showing himself to be a competent general.

August snooped around, discreetly listening in when Sonora's man, in the wee hours of the morning, presented their new transportation to Dave, like he was presenting a mob boss a special gift at the mobster's favored daughter's wedding.

She followed behind them; a witness to him giving Starsky a guided tour, proudly pointing to the good-sized pullout bed he was suggesting would make the journey easier on the Detective Sergeant's wounded friend. Monster had said, "There's plenty of room for him to lie down here, but we'll need to tie him down, make sure he don't move around too much and get that hole in his side starting to bleed again." Dave solemnly studied the bed, giving it a jerk and pull to make sure it was a solid support for the precious cargo of his ailing partner. He nodded, giving his approval for a job well done, then he took a few steps around, obviously gauging his feelings about the rest of the inside of the trailer. With his good arm, he had pointed out the small dark-tinted crank style windows on the sides of the vehicle. Rear and side window built up closer to the roof, and not too wide to allow much viewing access from the outside. "Shooters won't have much luck tagging us off so easy."

"Right," Monster confirmed, half-smiling that his wise intentions had been recognized.

Agent Moon curiously watched the way these two men, who were staunch and bitter enemies, talk to each other. They exchanged glances between them, ones that suggested that they shared an interest…a concern….had found common ground.

The thought was too bizarre to believe, but August made a fast analysis and a bet that that

'_common ground' _had everything to do with Ken Hutchinson. She smiled sadly, remembering that she had once been there….had once been the person determined to stand by David Starsky's side, battling the hounds of hell, to help him save his partner. It was obvious that Monster had strong feelings for Hutchinson when he'd valiantly shot himself up with that hypo that could have been another one of Sonora's doctor's poisonous concoctions.

Her head dropped in shame, she'd been displaced and it was the mob henchman that assumed that place of of honor.

And she was now the traitor…an enemy in the camp. Unable to watch anymore, she skulked off into the grayness of the early morning and the damp air outside.

Stingingly paining her, destroying her... was a haunting memory. The memory of the night she surprised herself by crawling into bed to comfort the blond cop. When she had been one of the 'good' guys, rescuing the kidnapped officer of the law, so solid and sure of who she was, and what she had been called up to do as an agent working for the Bureau. Defined by a life of valor, truth, and honor then, and now…who was she?

August pulled out the thin leather case from her pocket and stroked it tenderly. The case held the one thing that was the symbol of everything she believed in, everything that she lived for. Her badge. The hefty metal object wasn't as shiny as she remembered it. Had she dishonored it, or had it dishonored her? The tears flooding her eyes dimmed the gleam even further.

She'd been a fool, and that realization was a hard one to bear.

Her bosses and the Bureau's shrinks had enlisted her to play mind games on Ken Hutchinson, to manipulate and take advantage of the brainwashing inflicted on him by a 'common, notorious and heartless criminal'. The simple fact that she had allowed them to 'use' her to put him back in the hands of the person who had inflicted so much damage on him…her actions, she could never, ever justify. There was no justice she was upholding, no greater good she was bringing to society. Even if Sonora Latrielle's testimony brought down the hundred some-odd mobsters the Bureau convinced her could end up with indictments, how many of those men would truly be convicted? Half would probably plea bargain to a lower charge and get out of jail in time to see their grandchildren graduate college. Most of their positions in the various Families would be easily and quickly filled by some other thug eager to make easy money and a name for themselves. On the other side of it all, she very well knew what was hanging in the balance—the precious and beautiful soul of one of the two most honorable men she'd ever met. Two men whose lives were now in complete shambles, and once again, Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson's life in jeopardy, and Detective Sergeant Starsky's heart and sanity the same. Where was the good in that?

She made a decision, right there and then. A life-changing one.

Tugging and gripping at the tip of the FBI badge she had once proudly been bound to, August plucked it from out of the leather holder. Closing her eyes, she settled the quickening of her heart. Taking a deep breath of chilly air, she let the metal...and her life as Agent August Moon... fall onto the wet ground.

With a steeled intensity, she dug her heel into the hard object, burying it and everything she used to live for under the muddy earth.

**~o~**

Starsky hung up the pay phone. He couldn't move just yet, he had to take a minute to let all of what Dobey told him get planted in his brain, owning his part of what was supposed to happen in less than fifteen hours. There were details he shouldn't forget,

Hutch's life depended on it. It wasn't a complicated plan; thank God Dobey had the smarts to keep it simple. Starsky was at the end of his reserves, and his boss, who had a loving heart for the men who reported to him, made sure that he took the bulk of the work of the rescue mission on his own broad shoulders.

Fifteen hours, and then Hutch would be safe. Starsky wished it could be this very moment that his partner would be getting some real medical attention. The dark-haired man sighed deeply, trying not to let him himself slip into the fear he had to keep from taking over his conscious thinking. It would do him or Hutch no good to let that happen. They were finally so close to the end of this nightmare.

Starsky rubbed at the throbbing ache in his arm, and then just as quickly, rallied a campaign to dismiss it. There was no room left in his head to be concentrating on his pain. Things needed to get done.

He took another moment, re-assessing the here and now, and the people he was on the run with. He soberly contemplated each of them. Friend _or _foe? Enemy _or_ ally? If something did go down, before he could get Hutch to safety, who could he depend on? There was August, she was law and should be on their side if the shit hit the fan. He just couldn't say with real certainty if she was a friend or if she was foe - _but_ - he was certain that he didn't trust her. Not after the way she used the Bureau's slick mind games on Hutch to get them on this assignment. Therefore, on his mental checklist- he put her down as probable foe.

Sonora, a lunatic on all levels, she was unpredictable, he wouldn't trust her if the Angel Gabriel declared her changed ways. _Latrielle?_-enemy.

His eyes studied the watchful man waiting for him, half-hidden in the shadows…the giant…Frank. His three hundred and thirty pound frame clearly and fully engaged, ready for any possible unexpected trouble. A screeching car…or a rush of shoes clicking on pavement. The giant was on the ready, as if he was guarding…

_Guarding?_**...**a…_a bodyguard_? There to prevent any attack or danger from happening… _to him?_ Like he was waiting for a command to pull the car around or to swiftly get rid of some suspicious-looking character...

"What tha...?" Dave said under his breath, beholding the spectacle of Monster's pledge in action- to have their backs against any and all danger_. Hm?_ He almost wished he had a camera-none of his fellow officers in Metro would believe it when he re-told the story. _'Mob muscle'_ –protecting them!

If all of this wasn't just some act, then- just maybe, the two down-on-their-luck cops from Bay City did have someone out there with them as back up.

Starsky pointedly squinted at the big man who was staring in return. Lock-jawed and serious as a heart attack about being a watch-out for him while he had made his appointed call to Captain Dobey.

Maybe he and his partner did have an ally, a very formidable one, on their side after all.

**~s~**

"_**I have seen that look before," taunted the little man, who had said he was a doctor, rolling the smoking cigar back and forth between his fingers before taking a long puff. **_

_**Sprawled on the floor before him like a fish waiting to be gutted, Hutch tried to flip over, but the doctor chuckling over his feeble squirming, planted a stomping foot onto his chest, making Hutch bark out in pain and protest. **_

"_**Do you know how many men I've broken, hmm?" His tormentor, flung his cigar aside, moved swiftly, and Hutch flinched when the man's sneering face ended up being just inches from his own. His jaw roughly grabbed to turn his head toward the verbal lashing coming at him like a hail of bullets. "You're nothing special, detective— don't fool yourself. You think you're a better man because you've been able withstand some harsh treatment. It's only a matter of time when you'll find out you're as weak-minded, worthless, pathetic as all the rest!" The doctor in the caramel-colored lab coat, dug in his nails into Hutch's face, emphasizing his ability and power y to inflict more injury to him. "That look of submission is in you your eyes, I hear it in your every breath." The little man got closer , sniffing him deeply, "It seeps through your pores… you stink of it! Just like all the rest. You think you're better than any of those other men? Do you!"**_

_**Hutch moaned, trying to get away. A shockingly, stinging slap flung his head backward, and the warm gush of blood trickled down his chin.**_

_**He was then jerked out of his stupor by the doctor grabbing him by his shoulders, whispering into his ear, "You have that look in your eyes-a man at his breaking point. And… I…**__**will…**__**break you. Do you hear me, Kenneth? You are powerless to fight me, so why don't you make it easy on yourself, hmm? Everything you want…everything you need… food, water, sleep, comfort – can be had. It's…YOU… who can make all this pain and torment go away. What is there in your pathetic life in Bay City worth holding onto? There's nothing!' Let… it…go. Now!" his tormentor demanded.**_

_I'll find you Hutch, I promise! _

_**Starsky's words…rang inside him like a clang of a church bell, the resonance of them bringing deliverance, opening an escape hatch from the living nightmare.**_

_**~s~ **_

"Stars… gonna find me, h-he pro-promised." Hutch mumbled the words; the promise Starsky had desperately shouted to his friend when Sonora had ordered Monster to carry Hutch out of that dungeon. Starsky and everyone else in the moving vehicle heard them. The starkness of their meaning charged the air. Starsky's accusing eyes wilted Sonora, forcing her to slide away from the position and role of grieving wife, sitting bedside to her ailing husband. Hutch muttered more utterances and Starsky's softened and concerned gaze immediately settled on his distressing friend. "Hey," he said, picking up one of the blond man's hands into his caring grasp. "Hutch, buddy," gently urging his partner to wake up and be comforted by seeing that he had indeed fulfilled that oath.

Obediently, Hutch's eyes fluttered opened, but his unseeing, feverish stare didn't find him.

"Right here," Starsky assured his best friend, pulling their joined hands into Hutch's field of vision.

"See, I'm h -"

_Wait_…the dark-haired had taken a long way around into being stunned into silence by the realization. The truth slamming into him.

_Was it true?_

On that horrible and fateful day, back when Hutch had been ripped out of his life—

Hutch _had _heard him.

Had heard his promise and had ….believed and _trusted_ in Starsky to find him...to save him.

But it had taken so long and the damage to Hutch was so severe.

Unchecked emotion hit hard, choking him. Unstoppable hot tears rushed down his cheeks. Oh, God—Hutch had needed him, cried out for him during his suffering, waiting and waiting for Starsky to show up and pluck him out of the hell he was in. He was _here _now, but hadn't been _there_ when Hutch had needed him. Hadn't been there to help when Archelaus was bombarding him with punishment….

Starsky felt like a failure as a partner and a friend.

"_Let's leave them alone."_ He heard August instruct Sonora, as she pulled her away to give him room and space with burgeoning emotion.

"_Starsk_…" Hutch called for him.

"I'm…right ..."

"_Stars_…."

"Here…" Starsky whispered, his voice swelling with a sweet and loving melody, "Right here, babe," he said, drawing their clasped hands to his heaving chest.

He looked into the marginally clearer blue eyes that had settled on him, tears still freely streaming from his own.

"_Starsky?" _A feverish Hutch gazed upon him with awe and reverence. The combination of expressions and his fragile appearance made him look almost childlike.

"Yeah…"

"You… _found me_…" Hutch's raspy voice celebrated, lips turning into a ghost of a contented smile filled Starsky's heart to the fullest it had every been

"I found you," he answered, not bothering to explain all of what had happened between the day the promised had been made and the current one. Losing his thinly held composure, exhausted from trying to be strong, he fell onto Hutch's shoulder. Lightly sobbing, until he felt the familiar hand of his blond partner, his long fingers getting stuck in his dark curls as Hutch tried to comfort him.

~s~

Convicted and quieted by the their ease-dropping on the cops, in between watching the road being swallowed up under the motor home in motion, the ex-FBI agent and the ex-Mob henchman exchanged guilty glances. She turned to see Sonora had taken residence at the kitty-corner counter top that served as the kitchen table, staring into the Formica like it was a deep pool of water swirling her reflection. Her delicate hands tracing out an indiscernible S.O.S over the bumpy, speckled gold and tan surface.

August turned away from staring at the diminutive woman's crazed behavior. "There's no way they'll let her go before the Grand Jury. Not in the condition she's in. All of this-was for nothing. People gettin' hurt for nothing," she said angrily, shaking her head at the blatant irony, and adding a nod in the direction of the two cops in the back of the motor home.

The bodyguard, driving the Winnebago, sighed, lifting a hand off the steering wheel to glide fingers through his thick, dark hair, "I don't know," he said.

August frowned at his indefinite reply to her. "_What's that supposed to mean?_ _You don't know?_ That's all you have say about this mess! You're just as culpable as her, as me…. Don't you forget that!" She struck out at him with all of her self-crippling frustration and guilt, still smarting with jealousy over the fact that the bodyguard had found some redemption in the eyes of one David Starsky, while the Detective Sergeant still looked at her with mistrust and disdain.

The big man sighed again. Tipping his head to one side, he shifted his considerable weight, easing into a more comfortable position, before he started talking to her again. "I wanna tell you somethin', alright?" The warm tone in his voice wasn't what August had expected, and she felt something very strange shift inside...just as smoothly as the body movements he had just made.

"Zak Latrielle," he began to chronicle, "…shoulda got Sonora help- a long time ago. Now being he was an old-school mobster- his ego wouldn't let him see he had a kid who might have some imperfection. She's been a handful, believe me. When her old man died, I promised him I'd take care of her and you know, I'm beginning to realize that maybe old man Zak mighta taken advantage of bringin' me into the mob as a teenager, training me to handle all his dirty business. Making me her care-taker is like hanging a ten ton anchor around my neck. But still, I'm grateful to the guy for what he done for me. He took me off the streets and showed me the good life. If it wasn't for him—I wouda never found my purpose for being on earth." Monster glanced at her, she could tell he was trying to gauge if he had her ear and attention. He did. August found herself getting drawn into watching the way his mouth moved when he talked. His lips were full, nicely shaped and he had a mouth full of straight white teeth, just a hint of a gap between the two front ones. His lashes a lighter brown than his hair, and she found that…interesting. They were long, too. Appealing…

"I take care of people. That's what I do." It was an offer to her. And if she was confused about it—the generosity in his chestnut with a touch of green eyes confirmed it.

To be taken care of by someone? God, she wanted that, needed that more than anything. August was tired. Tired of being strong, so tired of being alone and being lonely.

Could she let Monster … take care of her? She couldn't stop looking at him, wondering?

This bear of a man—could he save her from the mess she'd made of her life?

"_You alright?"_ he asked, inquisitive about her reaction to what he was suggesting.

Caught staring, and embarrassed, August cleared her throat, quickly changing her focus to the windshield in front of them. "Yeah, m'f-fine," she stammered, waving a hand for him to continue on with whatever point he was trying to make.

"Sure," Monster kept a side glance on her for a beat, like he thought he wasn't so sure her declaration was the truth. Was her pain that transparent?

"Anyway," he sniffed, sneaking a look back at Sonora, and then leaning toward her, speaking more quietly, "You wouldn't play me for a fool again, woudya?"

It took her more than a minute to remember the trick she had played on him, at that Winter Ball. She had pretended she lost a stone from her ring, an heirloom, just so that Starsky could sneak by Monster into the bathroom- for some alone time with his amnesiatic partner - hoping to get Hutch out of Sonora's clutches.

August must have blushed, because she watched the man beside her ease into a broad grin, playfully scolding her. "Oh, now you see the error of you ways, Agent Moon?"

"Don't call me that anymore." She strongly corrected him without giving any further explanation. Looking up at him to show she hadn't met to be harsh, she said, "Call me August, okay?"

"Sure," he replied, offering his hand. "Me, I'm Frank."

She didn't raise her hand, not sure about what all was happening between her and Sonora Latrielle's bodyguard. August felt the warm roughness of his palm cover the hand she hadn't offered to him. He gently patted her skin.

"Don't worry, Miss Moon, we're coming out of this on the other side of things. You never know what surprises life might have for you once you get over there."

Frank gave her an imperceptible wink, it wasn't a lascivious one. It was more like one a good friend would give to let you know they expected you to make it out of your dark place, and that some how, they'd be working in the background to make it so.

Frank didn't move his hand and she didn't pull hers away either. He drove one-handed for quite a long while. They didn't talk anymore, but August was compelled to keep looking at him, wondering….and every now and then Frank would turn and give her a consoling smile.

**~s~**

"You finished?"

"Yeah." Starsky, sweat on his brow, had the soiled pants rolled up in towels tucked under his arm.

"Well, there's about six or seven more pairs in there and some underwear, too-, no reason he should be more miserable than he already is," Frank said.

The city by the bay cop nodded. Of course he agreed, but couldn't help but comment, "_Guess you've had a lot of experience being on the run, huh?"_ Starsky said, alluding to the life Monster had led being as a bona fide mobster.

"Yeah, lots of time we hadda hit the mattresses with a guy who's got a bullet in him he don't want anybody knowing what gun it came from..."

Starsky snorted, "Like from a cop _or_ a security guy's piece, when a heist has gone bad…" he couldn't help but remind the large man of whose team they both played for, the officer of the law's jaw clenched.

"All kinds of scenarios, Sarge, that I'm sure you don't' wanna know the details of," Frank answered, putting an end to a conversation that might disrupt the tenuous alliance between them.

They stared at each other for a few strained moments. Just as Starsky looked like he was about to speak, Frank cut him off.

"Give 'em to me- I'll dump 'em," Frank said, grabbing up the bundle of urine-soaked sweatpants and towels Starsky had used to clean up his partner. "You get back to him, and I'll get us back on the road, kay?"

The gesture from the giant was a reminder to Starsky of _who _and _what, _in this strange new world_, _put them in the same camp.

_Hutch_.

And maybe the opposing worlds they'd come from didn't mean a thing right now— not when there was something more important at stake.

Starsky shrugged off his sarcasm, "Yeah, let's get back on the road," he concurred.

**~s~**

Dobey wasn't sure when the bad feeling had starting. He tugged at the king-sized, special issue bulletproof vest he wore. The scratchy material was irritating his skin, and he was sweating from the bulk of it- but he was grateful for the vest-because of that_ bad feeling._

He'd been a cop long enough to know not to ignore his gut. There was trouble coming. The whirling buzz of the small plane's engine couldn't drown out the distressing alarm going off inside him.

The seven a.m. phone call he had with Starsky continued replaying in his head.

"Dave," he had said, "... you see it on the map?"

"_Dead Man's Bridge?_ Cap'n— "

He could hear the grimace in Starsky's voice.

Dobey pressed his mouth into the phone receiver, answering. "Starsky, it's an ideal location. Once you cross over it, there's a private airfield, just a half mile down the road—we'll able to take off within fifteen, twenty minutes top, after our hooking up. There's abandoned warehouses for us to get our men hidden in clear sight of you guys crossing over. Make sure you got nobody on your tail. The only thing going through there is the occasional commercial freight train."

"But, Cap'n... _Dead Man's Bridg_e?" Starsky continued protesting meeting anywhere with such a dreadful name.

Dobey sighed, acquiescing to that unfortunate truth. "I know it sounds awful, Dave, but we can't let a poor coincidence keep us from doing what has to be done, here, right? I have armed men, bullet-proofed transport, and a plane- help for Hutchinson. Once he's on that plane- medics will be hands on, and then we got an ETA of 35 minutes to the nearest medical center. They're primed and ready to give him the best medical care possible. So we're going through with this, son. My people are gonna be on the other side of that bridge- waiting to cover you." He paused to lower his voice. "And _you_ and _your people_ _are_ gonna meet us there." That was an order.

He waited for Starsky to answer, although the tone he'd just given his officer a direct order didn't allow Starsky any room for more protestation.

"Yes, sir." Was his officer's obedient reply.

And that was that.

Dobey should have been happy and should have found peace himself in the plan in motion, but he wasn't either happy or at peace. His gut...never lied.

"Harold! Harold!" the pilot, Rooter Gains, shouting, brought him back to the here and now.

The pilot waved at one of the plane's gauges, "We're almost half-way there!" Rooter yelled to him.

Dobey nodded his approval, and sat back, the bad feeling resting as heavily on him as the bulletproof vest strapped to his chest.

**(tbc)**


	20. Chapter 20

(**author's note

Sorry.

It don't know if the delay for this story can all be contributed to busy lifestyle. Yes, I'm sure caretaking my dad, on some obvious level, tapped my creativity and energy to write. I've come to realize how important it was for me to _**wait**_ for the ending I really wanted for this story. It's a much better ending than the original one I had sketched out. I had the mood, but not the vision for it. I couldn't see it play out in my head, _and_ if I had pushed myself to finish this earlier, I don't think I would have had the ending I wanted for this story.

I do apologize for the delay, but I don't apologize for wanting to make it as good as I could write it. I won't be wrestling with a story as I post it again, it's not fair to anyone eagerly awaiting new chapters. So I won't post anymore WIPs.\

I'm posting the last two chapters now. I wanted them to go up together. And well, I thought it wouldn't be fair to keep anyone waiting anymore for the final bits of this story.

Thank you Robbin L for your support and friendship. I miss your keen eye work, and your effort to keep me in line and honest! But glad you're still a pal!

And big thanks to my new bud, Adrianne, so kind to do a very attentive read through to make suggested and much needed corrections— even as she's busy being the best mom in the world to two little angels. Thanks for loving the work as much as I do!

This fic has not been betaed, cuz me sweet beta Sarah, is off learning something! Miss you, girl!

Any mistakes then- are mine.

See ya around people.

Be blessed. **)

Circle of Grief: Chapter 20

The Bureau's man frowned. He'd just had his butt whipped and handed to him on a tarnished silver platter. The bad stuff that was making his ulcer twist up inside his gut was not only going to keep happening, it was going to get worst.

His solemn word, the one he'd given to the Bay City police captain and his two officers, wasn't worth more than the annoying wad of gum stuck on the bottom on his shoe. _Unfortunate disappearance...sad loss - _he recalled the words the three high-level bosses in the secret meeting used when referring to the detectives. They were spoken in a dry tone, with a lack of compassion displayed to say them. If he had to guess, he could envision _expendable_ and _dispensable_ was more likely what they really meant.

So, all in all, he had to believe that those two young cops were as good as dead. Actually, he had gotten the strong impression that it would be better for '_The Bureau' _if they _and_ Harold Dobey were dead; each ceremoniously given the mandatory hero's funeral, and soon forgotten.

If that were the case, it would then be left that nobody in the know would be left to investigate why the Latrielle case had gone sour; AND not just once, but _twice._

Now he faced the threat of a reprimand going into his file – and with him so close to him retiring, too – in order to assure his total silence. It was their way of forcing him to keep his trap shut and his nose out of business that was obvious they didn't want him sniffing after.

At this point, it was easy to pinpoint when he had lost control of the operation - when August Moon had stopped calling in to report to him. It had been nearly six days since she'd gone MIA…..and had last had contact with her. Six days was too long in any investigation, especially one of this importance. He recalled the conversation that they had when he'd arranged for her to get the untraceable white panel van, clean and clear, in order to make sure that the mob couldn't track them.

Had it really been six days ago?

Obviously Moon ran in to in trouble... or lost trust in him?

Three grim-faced superiors told him to retrieve Latrielle and his detectives. Yet that simple command was only after he had been stripped down about being completely in the dark regarding Agent Moon's status, combined with the fact that Harold Dobey (unbeknownst to him) had put together some rag-tag group of ex- and ailing war heroes.

Too bad for Dobey though….as one of the veterans he solicited was already on the Bureau's payroll. Despite his loyalty to Dobey, the veteran was convinced by the FBI that Dobey had lost his mind, and this man, reluctantly betrayed Dobey- giving up every detail about the under the radar rescue mission. The agency mobilized their own agents to 'assist' this group with the mission of getting Sonora Latrielle to the Grand jury and _his_ help was no longer required.

Well, that's what they told him...

But their furtive hard stares, nervous paper shuffling, and their desperation about needing to have him off the case – well, it all piled up into big load of crap. He'd never been pulled off a case in his entire career. It was his agent, August Moon, that had gone MIA, and they wanted him on desk duty- until when? _Why?_ He demanded an answer, but as of yet, no good one was given.

Leo McNamara thought back to that night he stood under a street light, and had willingly offered those detectives, cops, _fellow-cop_s, his oath of protection. He had assured them he'd have their backs on the case the FBI had used every dirty trick in the book to get them take. He'd put best agent, August Moon right in the middle of the mess, as a show of his commitment to play fair. Everyone was supposed to be on the same page—after all, they were the good guys, weren't they? While Latrielle and the mob, well they were the bad guys. Sure, everybody was going to reap the benefits of being able to claim their part in such a magnanimous bust of so many mobsters. Close to 100 named persons of interest, and who knew how many more connected to them.

Leo sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose…..Leo liked to think of himself as nobody's fool. He'd spent a lifetime working covert operations – in college, feeding to local law enforcement illegal activity on campus, then close to fifteen years for the army and even more for the FBI. He knew all the plays, knew all about the deals made on the table and those made under it. More importantly, he knew a pile of crap when he smelled one.

The whole Latrielle operation was a ruse.

A big stinking rotting turkey – stuffed full of nothing but lies and B.S. He was a seasoned agent with a cautious eye-and could spot out those kinds of deals blindfolded. He had seen his share of backroom handshake agreements – the kind that maybe turned a back on a one low-level criminal to get a bite of a the bigger, badder criminal-

But this Latrielle case wasn't about that. Instead, this was classic, simple _greed_….

Sonora Latrielle testifying before a Grand Jury would put someone's golden egg, i.e. somebody's cash cow, in jeopardy.

What were they talking - millions or billions?

Someone was – no, that's not right, Leo thought – this whole thing was bigger than just one person. It was more likely that _some persons _were hiding in the shadows and running the show while sitting high on a mountain of gold? Or oil? Whoever they were—they were big. Hell – they obviously had money and connections – enough to already have had all his phones at work and at home bugged.

Damn.

Money, the making of it, the pilfering and hoarding of it- made the strangest bedfellows. It was amazing how warm and friendly people could get when you were filling up their coffers with un-taxable, untraceable cash.

It was obvious now - somebody with influence was in bed with the mob - using the Agency and that blond cop and his friends to lead them to Sonora. Her testimony was going to get in the way of some very cozy relationship – some mob family and their protector—whoever that was. A senator? A police commissioner? Maybe just some filthy-rich, upstanding citizen with major connections?

Well, w_hoever_ it was at the FBI, was protecting this piece of shit, greedy bastard – and they were hard enough to be able to stomach the blood left on their hands. Protecting their partner in avarice—instead of protecting the law, justice- and what it was supposed to stand for.

Leo ground his teeth – if there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was dirty cops.

Whoever they were, they would make sure to annihilate Latrielle…..and Leo had a feeling they wouldn't care about who was in their way.

Good people, good cops, could die.

And what about his agent, August Moon? She had entrusted her life to him.

Leo knew about trust. It was the first and most important aspect of any cop's relationships.

Leo breathed out hard. Trust, yeah, right. He gave it, but wasn't sure how much he was getting himself. His bosses had made it clear to him what he would be jeopardizing should he not listen to their subtle suggestions…..they asked him politely about his children – how they were doing in school – how he was handling the tuition money – how they liked the universities they were attending. They showed their concern over his wife, Emily, who was just two weeks into chemotherapy treatment.

What choices did he have?

Disgusted, he had to get out that place, the air stank of shame. As Leo pushed his way through the glass doors, a blast of the day's heat attacked him. He rummaged in his pocket for a stub of a smoked cigar, and lit it, anticipating the rush of the nicotine as it hit his craving lungs. He grumbled, cursed, and angrily scraped at the gummy mess on his shoe against the cement stairs.

In a split second, all of this rushed through his head – and his heard - and made the only decision he could.

"Screw 'em!" he growled, as he headed for his car.

**~sOs~**

She heard Detective Sergeant Starsky curse and say, "His fever's back up."

And when Ken's eyes met hers, he reached for her, and the dark-haired cop didn't stop her from going to her husband.

Four nights ago, in a dream, a ghostly memory returned to her. The dream brought back the faded memory of Matty Tremaine. She closed her eyes briefly as she saw it again – herself hiding in the back shadows, as she watched her father beat Tremaine to death with a bat.

Since then, each night she relived that same dream again – except with a slight twist. As Sonora dreamed, she would take the place of her father – thus her dream had her doing the same beating to Ken Hutchinson. She would take the bat and walk up to her husband and whack him until he stopped breathing…..she would hit him again and again despite the blood…..despite his screams.

The nightmare was driving her insane.

The blood and gore splattered on the walls in the basement of the huge mansion surrounded by an electrified fence she and father called home, in the nightmare, was _Ken's_—and not the cop, whose abuse and torture had driven her sister to suicide. And it wasn't her father's black-gloved grip on the wood bat pummeling out vengeance, but her own…and not Tremaine's screams... but her Ken's wails.

Recalling the slaughter of Tremaine brought many ghosts back into her daylight hours.

Ghosts...of her sister, of faceless murdered men, of a missing mother she'd learned in her late teens met death suspiciously- her body, stuffed into a suitcase, dredged up from the bottom of a river. Authorities ruled the death a suicide.

Their faces would not give Sonora peace, and their muffled wails swelled a unified chorus of agony in her head. Sometimes she would look to the other people around her to see if anything registered on their faces - to show they heard them, too – although she knew they did not.

This was her private hell. But, she was used to living in a private hell.

_Psychopath? or Sociopath?_

This little snippet of a question she had found written in her sixth grade student file.

The person that wrote it— after Sonora had shown the words scrawled in red to her father— left town, without given the elementary school principal notice or reason.

Sonora, even at eleven, knew her Daddy had the power to destroy anyone who dared come up against her.

Those word though- _Psychopath? or Sociopath? _referenced to her_-_ were nasty seeds. And she didn't know if she'd given birth to them, or if the opposite was true.

_Psychopath? or Sociopath? _As a child, she didn't understand the full meaning of those words-but Sonora understood their intent, and from the moment she saw them, she was both free and trapped. She also perceived that her teacher didn't like her, the thirty-something pointy-nosed woman, who always wore her hair in a tight bun- was constantly pulling her out into the hallway to yell at, scold, and punish Sonora. She hated that teacher, and when she showed her father the student file she'd stolen from out of that teacher's desk—Sonora didn't care would happen to the woman. But- she knew _something _would happen to her. How the woman knew she'd killed her cat, Sonora never figured out.

That incident made her feel giddy and powerful like nothing else before ever had. It was the construct… the framework for finding her place in the world.

But...those words still bothered her.

One day she bought a book, studying the definitions and symptoms of the conditions. When her father saw her with it, he tore if from her hands, ripped all the pages from it and threw the remains into the trash.

"There's nothing wrong with you!" He bellowed, barely able to calm himself. "Latrielles take _what_ they want, _when_ they want it. We're better than all these weak-minded idiots in world, who stumble around trying to kiss everybody's ass, when in their gut, if they could get away would it—they'd be living by our rules. _You_ don't bow down ta anybody, ever! Hear me?" He shook her, the first time he'd ever been rough with her. "_You hear me?"_

Sonora shakily answered, " Y-yes, papa. Yes!"

His behavior had frightened her, and he could see that. Her father got on his knees before her, gentle, wiping away tears from her cheek. "You're a Latrielle…" his eyes were bright and intense. "Never, _never_ forget that, baby. Nobody can say _or_ do anything to you. _And you know why_?" he asked.

She did know why, but she shook her head no.

"Cuz, _I _said, so," her father explained, pointing a thumb at his barrel-sized chest. Telling to her the only thing she needed to know about how the world worked. Latrielle blood, pulsing through her veins -was her birthright to immeasurable power.

There was a boy. He asked her to a junior high school ring dance. He came to pick her up, wearing a mixed-match suit of different shades of blue— and it made her so mad that she pushed him down their front steps. He stumbled away, holding back the blood streaming from a gashing wound to his head. The father who drove him over to the house called out some wimpy protest, until one of her daddy's men went out and told him to leave.

And that was all that ever came of it. Sonora sat in her room, waiting for someone to come and punish her, but no one did. Her father had been right.

And so, she never felt bad for pushing him down the stairs or for making him bleed or for ruining his reputation at school—the boy got teased so much for the incident, he ended up having to leave school. Years later she heard, a life full of bad luck and drugs had driven him to suicide.

He, too, was one of the ghosts.

**~sOs~**

Starsky wrangled the unraveling road map one-handed, growling at it under his breath. He re-located the place they were headed to meet up with Dobey and his troops. Impatience, frustration, his incapacitated right arm, exhaustion, and way too much adrenalin weren't helping him to find anything on the damn origami'd contraption.

And then there was something more...

"_Sa-arge!_"

"_What?_" He snapped back roughly at what obviously had been a repeated attempt to bring him out of his need to focus. He scowled, highly annoyed at being brought out of his work of trying to calculate just how much longer he and his partner had to be in the grip of danger.

The big man behind the wheel had been watching him-and calling out to him. "_Need some help with that, Sarge?"_

"No," Starsky barked back.

"Suit yourself," Frank answered, courteously playing down the amusement he must have enjoyed, watching Starsky's struggle to tame the road map from hell.

"I gotta tell you something, upfront. Before everything else goes down," Frank told him, no trace of the amusement that had been there a moment earlier.

Starsky let loose an ' _I knew it'_ sneer on him.

Unfazed by Starsky's convicting suspicion, the giant said, "I'm not ever gonna let her testify."

Starsky didn't have a reply, and Frank went on explaining, "Look," he nodded toward the back of the Winnebago, where Sonora sat. "_You see her, Sarge,_" his tone plainly suggesting even a blind man could see Sonora Latrielle wasn't in her right mind.

"Your point?" coming from the dark-haired cop, the sharp question sounded more like 'who cares'.

"Hey, I know you ain't feeling all that sympathetic, nobody could expect ya to be. But, see, I made a promise to her father...to Zak. To watch over his kid, no matter what season or storm came along-and I don't _ever_ break a promise-" he paused deliberately to make a point. He probably didn't need to do it, but wanted to remind the cops from Bay City of the pledge the bodyguard had made – to be their defender, no matter the circumstance.

"I'm loyal, Sarge. I keep my word," he paused again, "Maybe Zak's kid's one hellava mess, maybe she don't deserve the mercy she never showed to anybody else...maybe she shoulda got help a long time ago, maybe some of this stuff we got going on here- coulda been prevented... Whom am to judge?" Frank gave up a apologetic-sounding sigh.

Starsky would have preferred to serve up a expletively-laced curse in response, instead of nodding an acknowledgment that early intervention could have changed a world of things - like saving Hutch from all the injury Sonora had inflicted on him. There _was_ truth to the observation, besides he didn't have the reserves to debate the what ifs. Not when the present, here and now, was demanding his full attention.

Frank kept on, "Look, once we get you guys to your people, and I'm lettin' you know this upfront... I'm taking her with me. I, ah... got some money stashed away, a lot of it. Enough to help her stay outta sight, and maybe to get her some help, too."

"And, what makes you think I'm gonna just let her go waltzing off into the sunset?" Starsky was pissed at the news, and at the gall of the bodyguard's nerve to feel like he could share his plans to just cart the wanted woman off…..just like that.

"Come on, Sarge," Franks voice got soft, "You gotta have this figured out by now, don't cha? This ain't about her testifying- never was. They know _any _lawyer who represents her will plead her as being a nutcase. Anything she has to say to a grand jury is not going to be counted as credible 'cuz of it. _Sonora? S_he'll never make it to a grand jury- hear what I'm saying, Sarge?"

Of course Starsky got what he was saying.

Looking straight ahead, his jaw clenching, Starsky asked, "You're saying it's a setup?" A question they both already knew the answer to. There it was- that bad feeling he had had about the case from the very beginning – his cop's gut had calculated and deduced there was something wrong a hundred times over since the day they had left Bay City.

Was hearing it coming from Frank much of surprise? No.

It was easy, _too easy_, to say out loud what Starsky knew in his heart to be true. "Somebody in the Bureau set us up…..to bring her in….so the Mob could get rid of their problem? _That's what you're telling me?_"

Frank's voice was straight. "With the mob - you're in or you're out. There's not an 'in between.' They aren't gonna be too comfortable knowing she just might be found sane enough _someday._ Just picture it-one day, outta nowhere, one of those brand new young buck district attorneys comes across her name, studies her associations, and makes the connection. He sees bringing a new case with her as their main witness as a chance to make his bones- make a name for hisself…..and just plows ahead, thinking he's gonna be the first guy to ever to have a real shot of going after the mob. But that ain't never gonna happen. S'easier to get rid of _her_- _now_ – so they don't have to go after _him—_later. Too much bad press, if you get my drift. Sonora's always gonna be a loose thread to them, an unraveling one. Since when did you ever know the mob to be in the loose thread business?" Frank, having perfectly laid out his evidence, raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

The mob didn't leave any loose ends, Starsky silently concurred. Feeling an invisible ominous weight pressing down on him, he blew out a breath, heavily. Finally he had the whole picture of how they had been used to help set up a mob hit.

"See, you cops woulda handed her over... and she woulda gone missing, they'd say_-_ she took off again _or_ they'd arrange for some distraught family member, supposedly believing she ordered the hit on their father, brother- ah- first cousin- and 'BANG'," he used a index finger to simulate a gun barrel, "...acting alone, the police report would state, and that point's important, they'd...take her down. Right on the courthouse steps...I _know _these people- I was one of 'em, remember?"

"Damn...all of this," Starsky shook his head in disgust. "...Hutch gettin' hurt...all of his suffering..._all of it_...a stinkin' bunch of lies. I tried...I tried to tell him it stunk of a set-up."

"I don't know how this is gonna play out, but somehow, they'll come after us again. I feel it, man," the big man sullenly studied him.

They stared at each other.

Starsky half turned to look at his partner, Sonora asleep by his side, her head resting on his chest.

The dark-haired cop eye's returned to the map, strangely landing on the location of the bridge, Dobey and his people would be waiting on the other side of.

Just hours to that meet, just a few hours, that's all they needed.

He muttered an abbreviated prayer, trying not to let the Frank hear in it the shiver going up and down his spine.

"_So, where are we meeting your people, Sarge?_" Latrielle's bodyguard asked him straight out.

Starsky hesitated, still tentative about how much he wanted to share with the big man, mostly though, just hating having to say the creepy, ironic landmark's name out loud.

Frank waited on him. Patiently looking out at the road before them.

Starsky, yielding, sighed deeply. "Dead Man's River."

"Oh geez," the bodyguard groaned, "couldn't they found some place more inviting?"

Maybe it was an attempt at levity, but Starsky was too tired to offer up a sarcastic retort. His body sagged, eyelids acting on their own accord dipping shut, no matter how hard he tried to keep them open.

"Guess, you better get your rest, Sarge," Frank said, "Got a feelin' you're gonna need it."

**~sOs~**

"Outside." Starsky dismissed her, "I wanna talk to my partner."

She looked up at him, her eyes defiant and wild.

'C'mon' he heard Frank say, and watched him lead her way,

Starsky dropped to his knees, he touched Hutch's face, carefully sliding his hand down to rest on his friend's chest.

Hutch was sleeping, not comfortable, but a deep, drugged and disturbed sleep. Starsky could tell that from the quivers tugging at Hutch's turned down mouth. And from the sweat from fever beading on his way, way too pale skin.

"Everything's gonna work out, partner," Starsky said. He had to tell Hutch the rest, and somehow even though he couldn't explain why he believed it to be so, his partner would hear him. "We might run into a little trouble, Hutch. But, don't you worry about anything. I'm gonna take care of it." The odds were stacked up against them, and it was possible, an eavesdropper, overhearing him, might think Starsky had gone mad. But they'd have missed it, what he had spoken into existence _was_ going to happen. How did he know that they might ask him? He could tell them, what he knew- for sure. He _couldn't_, _wouldn't _let Hutch die.

August came close, saying in a hushed tone, "That was the last of the pain meds, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know. Won't be long."

While he had napped, Frank had found and taken a shortened route, allowing them to arrive at the designated location almost two hours ahead of schedule. They had made a cautious pass by the bridge and taken a safe position nearby. All they had to do was wait….wait until 7:45 and they would be carrying Hutch across that bridge with Dobey and his people as cover against any trouble. Medics would tend to his partner on a helicopter on route to a hospital, that's all there was to it. Starsky played that scenario over and again in his head, creating it into reality.

He reached for the towel August handed to him. Dabbing gingerly at the dampness on Hutch's face and neck, "You really scared the crap outta me this time, buddy. But, everything's okay, now. You'll see."

He looked up at August, doubt and guilt in her flickering gaze.

Hutch stirring, drew back his full attention, and the agent made a fast exit out of the Winnebago.

"No," August told Sonora, blocking her. "Just leave them alone."

"He needs me..."

"Oh God." August groaned, grabbing Sonora and dragging her out of earshot of the cops inside the motor home. "You're the last thing he needs."

The tiny woman pounced at August but Frank easily swooped her up. "Calm down, Sonora! Stop it. We can't be fighting among ourselves."

"Get off," she yelled, jerking and twisting.

"Be right back," Frank said to August as he toted off his trouble.

"Stop, stop it," The big man held her in front of him like he was holding up a rag doll. "Listen, to me."

She growled, then hissed at him like venomous snake. Her long black curls flicking in the air like a cat of nine tails.

"Listen, to me, this ain't about you," Frank admonished. "You get it? For once, can you do something for someone outside of yourself? You said Ken needs you - do you even know what he really needs?"

Sonora's struggling eased, but her body trembled in anger. He put her down, gingerly taking his hands off of her. "It's time for some straight talk, missy. Some stuff is about to go down. Some bad stuff. Right? You know that as well as me, no matter how screwed up things get in your head, now that ain't fault. But I'm telling you it's gonna get really ugly - and you say- you love the man, right..."

"I do!" She insisted, her nostrils flaring in defiance. "You can't tell me otherwise."

"Okay, then. In the next hours, you're probably gonna have the chance to show it. Ken, and his partner, don't deserve to be caught up in this mess we made. Now, I'm willing to do my part to make it right – _what about you?"_

"Wha-what are you talking about? Just get out of my way!" She snarled, stomping a step to head back to the Winnebago.

He stopped her. "Sonora, you're at the crossroads. You understand me? You might never have the chance again to make up for some of this pain you caused him."

She shook her head, dismissing him. "I can't fix this, what's been done, and it doesn't matter anyway, cuz he loves me." Tears slid down her cheeks.

Frank raised a finger to make his point. "You won't ever have a chance with him..."

"You-shut up!"

"...You won't ever, _ever,_ have a chance with him- if you don't try to make things right. If nobody ever told ya, let me be the one to clue you in, Sonora. You _get _what you _give_. Understand? If you ever wanna have a chance at Ken loving you, you had better show him some love first – _some real love_. And you got just a few hours left to make that happen."

"What are you saying, Monster?" A confused Sonora asked, jumping in surprise as she watched August walk up to them, joining right into the conversation like she and Monster had a plan already in mind.

"Dave and Ken wouldn't be in this mess, if I wasn't for the three of us," Agent Moon said to her.

Sonora sniffed hard, widely staring back at the giant, and the FBI agent standing closely by his side.

**(tbc)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Circle of Grief: Chapter 21 **

"You need to do what's right- just once!" Monster yelled, scolding Sonora like she was a child.

She fled Monster and Agent Moon's words, their verbal lashing and castigation – how dare they give her orders! When she couldn't take anymore of them, Sonora ran off.

"Papa!" She cried out to her dead father, a cry for help, a demand for his intervention- his wrath. He'd told her Latrielles ruled the land with an iron fist, they had their way in the world- they barked and people jumped-they didn't take shit from anyone - that's what he'd told her.

The world, her world, _her life,_ was falling apart. There was no one left who cared about what she wanted, needed, or about her birth-right to power. Anyone and everybody could tell her what to do, where to go and how to feel! _And now_-they demanded that she give up the only thing she had left..._Ken._

So she'd run from them, even though she was terrified of the night and the men thirsty for her blood, hidden in the ebony curtains of nighttime...wanting to kill her.

Then- she'd seen the person she hated more than any other, skulking off into the dark.

She didn't know why she had to follow him into the darkness. Maybe b she didn't trust him? Maybe waiting for an unexpected opportunity? She didn't know why she did the things she did. The world...and everything in it twisting in her head, just like the night wind. Every snap of twig and wavering branch could be someone coming for her, but driven by impulse and hatred, she went after him.

After all…this was all _his_ fault.

**~sOs~ **

Starsky was waiting...hiding in the thicket of bushes and shadows**…**waiting for Dobey's flashing **S.O.S** from the river bank on the other side of the rushing water, when he heard something creeping in the brush.

He feigned ignorance for a beat, and then leaped at the body sneaking up on him.

A woman's yelp- and in the next beat he realized the petite form with a bounty of hair squashed under him, was Sonora.

"_Wha tha? Wha the hell are you doing?_" he uttered with a growling hiss.

"Get off of me," she squealed back.

"_Quiet!"_ Starsky whispered harshly, trying to stop her from drawing attention.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do!"

She pushed him away. And he could see the scowl on her face- a sliver of the moon's light hitting it, making her look more deranged than normal. Her partially eclipsed face and long tendrils floating and snapping in the air brought to mind pictures he'd seen of Medusa.

"You musta completely fallen off your rocker-coming up behind me like that!" Starsky barked. Wincing, he drew up a hand to his bad shoulder as he stood, towering over her.

Rising too, Sonora continued to verbally assault him. "_Why_..._why_ did you come and ruin what we had! We were happy! I want you to leave... leave us alone..._ just go_!"

She waved her arms at him, delivering threatening jabs at his chest.

Starsky didn't have time for this, her crazy posturing could draw attention and ruin everything- she could jeopardize everything. There was no time or space for one of her tempestuous, attention-getting tantrums. Hutch's life was still on the line.

Sonora had pushed him... beyond his limit.

The enraged woman beat fist on his arms.

"Ken loves _me_... and you can't stand that he chose _me_... not _**you**_...you don't want him to be happy...you selfish cretin! Why can't you let him be happy..._leave.._ _us...alone!_"

The straw...breaking the back of a _herd_of camels.

He got in her space, angling his head like a rattlesnake's tail ready to strike... "_There's no _more games, missy. I'm done with you. _You hear?_ If you think-I'm going to leave Hutch- _with you?_ Then- you _have_ lost your mind. S' never gonna happen- _**not**_ when you tried to drug him into submittin'. _Not now_-not ever. _Never._ Not as long as I got a pulse and a heartbeat. Got that? You bet all the loose screws rattling around your head-as soon as we're out of this... you come _anywhere _near him..."

Starsky allowed his most malevolent sneer to surface, "...I won't be responsible..._for my actions. Y_ou understand?" An sharp nod to solidify the promise he'd made.

"Who are _you_ to threaten _me_. _You! _You're nothing'" She spat, sneering back at him, and got in his face. "It's in my power to make you…..disappear, do _you_ understand?"

Red-faced, Starsky's temper screeching like a kettle left on the stove turned up all the way up to high. _"You think you're running the show?_ You're crazy! _Crazy!_" he grabbed at her. "_You?_ _Order a hit?_" Cruelly mocking her, he laughed, "You couldn't order a pizza delivery. Look..." he jerked her around, dragging her through the brush. "_This_ is reality, You got nuthin', no home, no friends, no money, non - husband! _Nothing_. Your reign of terror is on shutdown. Zak's kid, playing mob princess- that gig is over. You're on the run. Ya get that?" He spun her around in a circle, stopping her on the points of an invisible compass- north, south east and west, and announcing at each abrupt stop- " Target on your back here, target on your back there, and here and here- you're finished! You raise you're messed up head above above water anywhere- and-" he paused for effect, while whipping her through the precise NSEW points her again. "_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_"

When he stopped, the abject horror on Sonora's face brought him down just a notch.

"I don't why you came out here?" he said. " What you were looking for? What kinda mercy you expectin' from me... after the little you showed him?" Starsky choked, on his anger and the sorrow of how she had so horribly damaged his partner. "How much mercy...did you show him? _Huh?_"

"No!" she shrieked, eyes wide and wild, jumping at him, swinging her fist at his face.

She was strong, stronger than he expected, it was hard to stop her...fight her...one-handed. He groaned, twisted his head back and away from the nails trying to gouge out skin.

The ear-shattering explosion brought the fight to its end. They hit dirt, the ground rocked and rumbling beneath them.

Fire from the blast bloomed, framed by a gigantic growing white cloud.

Starsky knew exactly what that blast meant.

"Noooo, no, no, no, no..." a horrified Starsky chanted at chanted at the sight of part of the bridge they were about to cross, crumble and collapse. Rising partially off the ground he was stupefied - the help for his partner was on the other side of river.

The movement of Dobey and his people was highlighted by the blazing and burning detonated bridge. Starsky**, **frozen by shock, caught the searching gaze of his captain running to the edge of the river bank. Dobey's expression- angsty and hopeless. They stared at each other, knowing that all of Dobey's efforts to rescue them was going up in smoke. Dobey shook his head, utterly distraught over what was about to happen. They both knew it would be minutes or seconds before a swarm of assassins would be mobilized to finish the job of killing Latrielle and anyone who got in their way.

On cue, Sonora started shrieking and Starsky rolled, tackling her and clasped a hand over her mouth. "Quiet!" he hissed into her ear. "_Wanna get us killed?"_

There was a strange ominous silence and then another earth-shaking explosion, even louder than the first. The rumble after it sounded like the loudest roll of thunder ever and they all gasped, wide-eyed and watched the rest of the wood and iron structure's final destruction.

Starsky's heart thumped in his chest. _"Hutch?_" his whispered question. "C'mon" he told Sonora, as he jerked to her feet, sparing one last look at his worried friend across the deep river before taking off to his wounded partner.

He had bolted back toward the Winnebago like a madman. Unconcerned with Sonora's stumbling, barely able to keep up with him. Repeated gun fire popped and crackled behind them-Dobey's men being shot at, and returning fire. In front of him-more shooting from where the Winnebago had been. His heart pounded ferociously, but Starsky propelled forward, picking up his speed as his fear for Hutch rose up to an unbearable crest.

"Oh God, please…" He'd cried out, as they came to the clearing, fully expecting to see the van fully engulfed or riddled with bullets.

Stunned by what he did see, he came to a full stop, despite the sound and whizzing of gunfire

coming from everywhere.

There was Frank.

Running.

And there was Hutch... protectively gathered close to the behemoth's chest. Even in the dark, Starsky could see him, surprisingly fast for a man of his size, serpentine sprints as he ran, using his massive frame to shield Starsky's partner from further harm. August, strategically one step behind him, her weapon drawn, covering for them while she blasted away at the enemy hidden in the bush.

"C'mon, Sarge!" Frank yelled to him, running toward a drop off dense with big-leafed trees. Starsky took a beat to process that _all-_had _not_ been loss. There was still something to live for his soul cried out, and he gratefully shook his head. "Right," he yelled back, following after the same man...the same _Monster, _who under orders from Sonora, had carried off his best friend _out _of his life-

And now...

– and now was the man risking his own life to carry his partner _to_ him, and out of the clutches of certain death.

It was mind-numbingly profound, on way too many metaphoric levels… too deep for him to give it the proper consideration of its meaning, and substance. They were being at shot at.

So he just kept moving.

They scrambled, practically tumbling down the bumpy ravine. Then onto flat ground. Down a rugged path, shouts of the men coming from the darkness above them.

A signal from Frank brought them to a halt.

Beside him, Sonora was heaving for breath, and Starsky realized he still had a tight grip on her. He let go. Feeling like he was in a surreal and parallel world, his confused glaze flitted between Frank and August, until a shock of white blond hair captured it. _"Hutch?"_ he asked about his friend's condition, reaching out to examine him.

"He's alright," Frank assured, and then said, "This way." Breathing heavily, the bodyguard nodded to the dark shadows on the right. Starsky didn't bother to ask where they were going.

When it had started raining Starsky hadn't noticed. But the ping of the raindrops echoed inside of the construction tunnel. Wide, dark and deep, they could all stand up inside of it. They probably looked like a pack of startled wet rats. Out of breathe and soaked to the bone, each of them struggling to regain some composure - they had just all run for their lives.

Starsky sucked down one last clarifying gulp of air. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the natural night light coming through both ends of the huge metal tube, his stare finally levelly to see the need in Frank's eyes. The giant was sinking, losing his hold on Hutch, and Starsky swiftly moved to take Hutch from. "I got 'im," he said, and Frank biting back a muffled groan, released his hold.

He took the weight of Hutch's limp, and lanky body mostly on his injured right side and held him up with his left. He eased them both against the slick-with-mold wall, and carefully sliding down onto his butt, pulling his unconscious friend across his body. There on the ground, Starsky went to work taking care of his buddy. He caught up bunches of Hutch's soaked clothes in a fist, squeezing as much of the rain from them as he could. "How did you know about this place?" he asked Frank, but kept his eyes on his friend, focused on his work.

"I took a look around. Soon's we got here, I figured we might need to take advantage of knowin' the lay out. There's a few deserted construction sites around here...this place s'probably been here for decades – this, I don't know- _storm drain,_ whatever it is- it's like part of the forest, now. I...um," He paused, one of his hands grabbing out for something to hold onto and August, was there to help. It was when they turned that Starsky saw the row of bullet wounds across the massive shoulders and broad back. Three, maybe four tell-tale red holes.

Bullets taken for Hutch.

"_Oh...you're hit._" Starsky saying it like maybe Frank hadn't known he had been shot up.

"Sit here." August, taking charge, wasn't taking no for an answer. Frank, gingerly slung an arm over her shoulder, whispered something to her and August answered softly, tightening the grip she had around his waist.

It was a weirdly intimate exchange.

"I...I just need...need a minute here." The big man, sounding spent, said to him. August helped the giant to get off his feet.

"Don't lean back on the wall," the woman agent ordered. "Slimy." Frank nodded and their eyes stayed on each other.

Sonora, veiled in gray mist, cried and whimpered.

Starsky looked down at his partner. Two of them, now... _no_, he himself had taken a slug in his shoulder-then it was _three_ of them now wounded. The odds weren't looking good- no, they were terrible. Maybe...maybe this old abandoned tunnel would be their last resting place.

_Sorry, buddy I tried so hard to get us outta this…_

As if Frank had read his mind, he spoke to him, right on cue. "_Sarge._.."

Crippled by oppressive anguish, Starsky could only listen. Couldn't speak, afraid he'd start bawling. But he kept working on trying to rub and squeeze the water out of Hutch's clothes.

"...there's...a...another way out."

Starsky raised his hand to Hutch's wet hair, pressing and squeezing. Hutch's eyes shut tight, like an agonized man lost in a faraway place. Thank God, he wasn't awake. But he was pale...paler than he was a few hours earlier.. a twinge of blue on his lips and in the thin translucent skin under his eyes. How much can a man survive? Overwrought, with the thought of losing his best friend he pulled the man in his arm closer. In his anguished he begged his partner. "Please...

please.. don't...don't.. don't die, don't leave me..."

"_Sarge?_"

His mind was on a delay, had he heard ...

_...there's a way out?_

Starsky forced his head up.

Frank gave him a confirming, compromised from pain smile

~**sOs~**

"_A train?_"

"Yeah, freight train."

"Who knows when the next one is..."

"Doesn't matter Sarge. All we need's one...pulling outta here. Before any of those guys trying to kill us- find us." Frank gritted down a moan, gingerly shifting his position.

He had to be in terrible pain, the big man had insisted he was in good enough shape to carry Hutch when they made the move. The tunnel, he said, would discharged them into a basin. A basin, about five hundred yards from the small rail yard. Frank said he'd spied activity at the station, monitoring as best he could over the five hours they had been hold up in the area.

"There's only just a couple of guys in the...aw..." Frank, wincing, stopped, he dropped his head just slightly. Like he was riding out a wave a pain, fat beads of sweat formed on his forehead and cheek. Partially composed he went on explaining the lay out, "...those men stay up front, to talk to the driver...anybody can hitch a ride on one of the freight cars in the rear, without drawing their attention. Somewhere in the next hour or so... another one's coming through here. They'll make a stop, maybe..."

"_Yeah_, _maybe_..." Starsky repeated, hope pounding his heart so hard he wondered if the other man could hear.

**~sOs~**

A train did stop. A nice long one. Soft-footed, cautious, they came out of hiding. Slipping and ducking in the shadows as they made their way to it.

Frank carried Hutch, an arm underneath the blond cop's knees and across Hutch's back. Despite his pain, Frank didn't let his load dip or sway. Starsky was in awe. The big man had to be in agony, but didn't show it. He was in extreme guardian-mode. The man's whole being - charged, electrified by his call to duty, and it was sight like none other.

**~sOs~**

"I don't know if I can do it," Sonora said.

Frank took her hand into his, looking deep into her eyes, he gave her a understanding smile, "I'll help you. I'm always gonna be there to help you."

**~sOs~**

The rumble and chug of the freight train vibrated under him, and Starsky shouted, "_C'mon!_" Reaching out a hand to Frank, August and Sonora. _"Hurry!"_

There was no movement and Starsky shouted at them again, "Hurry, this thing is taking off. _Now!_"

He raised up on his knees, incredulous, as he watched them huddle closer together, unified in their collective lack of response to his cries.

Sonora had a stream of plump tears etching rivers down her face. She was sobbing, but shockingly shaking her head 'no'. Her wounded and waning bodyguard had her ensconced in his hefty arms… the pained smile on his face was one of a proud father, acknowledging his child had finally done something surprisingly redeeming.

"We...we ain't goin', Sarge," Frank stated, wheezing out the agony his bullet-ridden back was causing him.

"_What? You're crazy_… you... need to get some help, how far you gonna get in your shape?" A confused Starsky warned.

"It's nothing," the big muscled-man half-joked, "I'm thick skinned… feels like buckshot, that's all. I been hurt worse than this before. 'Sides-you two are safer without us."

The screechy, rusty squeal of the wheels, and pungent fumes of diesel fuel and exhaust filled the air.

Sonora gasped, she reached for Hutch- and Frank, frowning with the pain for the effort, lifted her up to say her goodbyes. High enough for her to press a wet cheek on the tip of Hutch's head. Her shaking fingers seeking.

"I do love you, always You hear me?" she said. "We know, you and I…" She spoke of the love she believed they'd shared, a torrent of tears streaming down her flushed and dirty face. "I'm sorry, for everything, sweetie… I only wanted…you. I still want you.. I love you. No matter what happens...or what anyone ever tells you.''

Hutch's delirium-twinged eyes fluttered opened for her. "_Sonora?_"

"No matter what…happens…to me… I'll _always_, always want you. Always love…you. Maybe...maybe… this will prove how much. You'll always be in my heart….I promise, love." She kissed his hair and face and his tear-laced eyelashes.

The train was moving.

Frank whispered, lightly pulling her back "It's time."

"I-I have to go." The sobbing woman told the man she loved.

"_Wait…no...no..._" Hutch murmured, weakly raising a hand to clutch the fingers caressing his face _"Don't … don't go_."

"I love you," she called out, their hands slowly losing hold of each other as the train's speed picked up.

Starsky, stupefied by the emotional goodbye, shook off the image of it. He scrambled closer to the edge of the car. Wide-eyed in disbelief. "August!" he called out to the FBI agent who hadn't moved an inch to join the Bay City cops, finally able to flee from danger.

She just gave a slight, mischievous grin, waving farewell, "I'm on assignment, _remember_?

But they both knew she wasn't acting under the auspices of the Bureau anymore. Her hair, for the first time, let loose, blew freely in the wind.

Hutch, behind him tried to rollover, an arm reaching out to the woman he had been so inexplicably in love with. "NO!" was Hutch's distraught cry.

Afraid his partner might take a plunge out of the car to the ground below, Starsky grabbed him up, pulling him to his chest. "No, don't. I got cha," he spoke into Hutch's ear, but Starsky's stupefied gaze stayed on the three people that had stayed behind. An hysterical Sonora was plastered to Frank's chest. Starsky stared into the big man's solemn face. Blinking away at the blurring, pooling hot wetness in his own eyes, Frank's was crying, he could see that even as the moving train picked up speed, putting more and more distance between the fleeing cops and the people on the ground….the ex-mob hitman, the renegade FBI agent, and Sonora Latrielle, mafia princess on the run. All of them now left behind to fight off an army of rabid and determined assassins- all on their own. Certain and obvious death…awaiting them. No greater love is how some might describe it…wasn't that the truth of it? At this moment Starsky struggled with grasping that truth.

It was confusing as hell. _What had just happened?_ The cold-hearted witch that had wrecked and ruined the lives of everyone who had the misfortune of meeting her… so villainous she had ordered the murder of fathers, and sons, and brothers… without consideration? Was he supposed to believe that _l__ove__,_ no matter how twisted and damaged the woman's psyche… that _LOVE _compelled her to see someone else's need were greater than her own selfish ones?

And Frank and August? Taking the heat, knowing all gun sights on Sonora's back – by association – were on theirs, too.

It was also the truth though, that nobody gave a crap about him and Hutch, wouldn't bother to come after them.

Would the people he just left behind have a chance? With a back full of lead, how far would Frank get? No matter how tough he said he was, sooner or later he'd succumb, and drop to his knees. August and Sonora couldn't shoulder the weight of keeping him on his feet and running. They were all as good as dead, and that was a conclusion that they all had to considered, had to have realized.

"Ken!" He heard her yelling, and looked up to see Sonora running. Running after them "Ken! Don't forget! Remember your promise," she cried. "Remember! And I'll remember too, Ken! _Your promise__!_"

Starsky watched her collapse in a messy heap, the wounded giant and August slowly making their way to her.

"Sonora," Hutch muttered, and he shushed him.

~ **sos~**

_**Having feasted on clementines, cold chicken, and wine, they lay on their stomachs, a green blanket keeping the damp grass from dampening their clothes. Playing a game of who could stare at the other the longest before blinking-a kid's game turning serious very quickly when he couldn't look away from her. Looking into her. Sonora's long lashes dipped shyly and she gazed up at him. "You know, when I was a little, I wished I had wings...so I could fly away. Don't you think that makes me sound like the craziest little girl in the world?"**_

"_**Nope," he said, his fingers gently outlining her diamond-shaped chin. "Know why?" he asked.**_

"_**No." She glanced down again.**_

"_**Because – I wish I had wings right now! And-I'd take you in my arms and see that-," he pointed at the exquisite blue, cloudless sky, "I'd take you right up there. Way up high, above the world and its problems... just the two of us."**_

_**She giggled at him stretching out his arms like he could fly.**_

"_**You'd like that wouldn't you?" the warmth in her laughter made him grin.**_

"_**Like it. I'd love it! That'd make you my guardian Angel, wouldn't it?''**_

_**He sat back on his heels, studying her. "Is that what you need, sweetheart?"**_

"_**I wouldn't deserve it," his wife said. Gloomy, she shook her head, "Ken, if you only knew...I've done things... some very bad things… and if you were an angel, you'd hate me."**_

"_**Shh," he said, reaching for her.**_

"_**No, it's true." She pushed his hands away, unable to look into his face. "I read somewhere about this village, the people there believed that you could see right into a person's soul, all the good, or bad. They believed when you looked into someone's eyes, you'd know their whole story. When I look into yours," she picked up one his hands, holding onto it for dear life. "...even though I don't everything about your past, I can see all the good you've done. How much love you've given and have to give, and yes, to me, you are like an angel. But I'm so afraid...when you look into my eyes...what you must think of me. Surely you have to see the truth, and I can't lie to you anymore about who or what I am.. I can't. If you knew it all-you wouldn't love me at all…you wouldn't want to be my angel..."**_

"_**Wait, wait a minute! Look at me, sweetheart," he begged. "Do you think I don't have things in my life I'm not proud of- you tell me I was a cop. You don't think one day I'll remember the people I've come up against- and some of the things I had to do to them. Hurting, shooting… killing. Having to put aside mercy for hard justice. A badge may have given me the right- but do you think because I had a badge, that washes my hands clean? Hmm?"**_

_**She frowned at his attempt to make her feel better.**_

"_**Everybody has something they're not proud of- that eats away at them."**_

"_**It's not the same," Sonora sounded sad. "I'm... I'm not like other..." her voice barely above a whisper, "...like other people."**_

_**He sighed, shaking his head at her confession, "Heck, the world sure would be boring if we all were the same, wouldn't it?"**_

"_**You don't understand..."**_

"_**Besides," he told her, "... all I see, when I look into your eyes, is how much you love me."**_

_**She was inconsolable, but an idea energized him. He snapped his fingers. "Wait! Wait," he said excitedly. "Let's make a promise."**_

_**His animation earned him her curiosity; she raised her eyes, looking into his. "A promise?"**_

_**He pulled her to him, a firm and loving hand to the small of her back, They were face to face. "Yes. One between you and me," he answered, blessing her neck with his lips.**_

"_**We love each other, don't we?" his voice husky with want.**_

"_**...love each other?" Repeating his words, she was breathless, falling deep into the spell of his lips and strong hands.**_

"_**...no matter what..." he continued, his mouth edging closer and closer to hers.**_

"_**No…mat.."**_

"_**You say it," he urged her with his caresses.**_

"_**No matter…" she said**_

"_**No matter what." He said again.**_

"_**No matter what. You promise?" She begged of him, speaking the words into his opening mouth, their lips touching.**_

"_**I promise, sweetheart." He meant it and she, believing him, clung onto him with passionate desperation. "I promise...I promise…I promise."**_

_**Desire and the urgency to prove his love to her silenced him.**_

_**But the words remained...**_

_**Rolling and morphing from his voice to someone else' s...**_

_**I promise...I promise…I promise**_

_**I promise…I promise**_

_**I promise…**_

_**I promise…**_

_**I'll find you, Hutch. I promise, hear me? I'll find you!**_

…_.__**gunfire cracking and popping all around, the threatening sound of danger pinging off the backdoor and sides of the speeding van. He dragged Sonora to her feet, protectively curling his body around her.**_

_**...shouts of August and Starsky coming from the front seat and the rapid fire of the return blasts at the cars filled with gunmen hot on their tail...breaking out a small window with the butt of his Python he shot through it at the driver in the first car...bullets from their weapons penetrating metal, began to increasingly zip-zag and rattle inside the van...turning to shoot another round at them when.. he felt the heated metal pierce his flesh...**_

_**He gasped, paralyzed by shock. He'd been shot. The hot searing pain dropped him like a knockout punch.**_

"_**Sta-rr-sky," he called out for his help.**_

**~sos~**

"Starsk…Starsk...help...help me." Hutch groaned, curling into him, "Th-they shot..shot me," he mumbled, glassy eyes staring up into Starsky's face. "Need a hosp..."

"I know…. I know, buddy…" he said, apologizing to his friend who was finally coming out of his drug-induced stupor. "Seems like we been taking the long way around-but that's exactly where we're headed, part'nr."

Hutch's eyes opened more fully, suspiciously taking the sight of the hay-covered floor of the giant metal tin can train car they had hitched a ride in. "_Where?"_ he asked, confused by the surroundings.

Starsky just shook his head, how could he explain everything that had put them there?

"I'm gonna take care of everything." He felt, more that thought about the next question that rose up out of him with a universe full of meaning and importance elevating it. "_You trust me?"_

The tension in the body he had wrapped his good arm tightly around, relaxed, Hutch's head resting on his shoulder blade. His blond partner's nod searing an intoxicating joy fully onto his heart. "_Trust ya, Starsk,_" Hutch whispered to him.

_Trust?_

An exhausted and emotional Starsky found himself being poked and prodded by _that word_ again… but, _this time_-

It didn't make him feel crazed or resentful.

_This time-_ he felt giddy- overcome by its present incarnation. With Hutch and him- _trust_ was a word that had no weak and wobbly underside, no maybe-if-or when double meaning, no best-but failing effort, it was an unquestionable, undeniable, un-matched, unshakable certainty.

_Do you trust me?_

All the people along this insane and destructive journey- who had posed that question, didn't know what they were asking from him—when they asked for his trust. Because none of them – not one – could ever know the depth of the 'Me and Thee' partnership and how it had changed the meaning of the word _trust _for him_..._forever.

Every step of the way he'd been plagued by people asking him to just give to them what he held in such high esteem, the thing that sustained his sanity, his being...his spirit..._his soul_. No wonder he felt compelled to reject and debate if they knew what they were asking of him.

Trust was no joke, couldn't be sealed with a casual 'sure, okay'- trust had to be earned, _forged_ by two people willing to give all of themselves to each other, who put _everything _on the line, _day_ after _day_- being present with each other, to lend a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, sacrifice it _all-_ without hesitation, if need be.

But wait, how could he reconcile what Frank, and August had just done for them?

_And Sonora? _Was her last act of redemption enough to redeem her?

No—not in his eyes, not in his book.

He could never forgive her. _Never_. He wasn't made that way. Nobody got a pass on harming his partner. And as a cop, he'd seen too much in life to believe anyone as diabolically narcissistic as Sonora Latrielle, could have her demons exorcised by one single moment of acting like a human being.

Starsky's head and heart ached from wrestling with what it all meant.

It was all too much to think about. He needed to just concentrate on being thankful. He closed his eyes. Was that all that mattered? He didn't know. But it felt so good to have made it out of the burning inferno he and his partner had been shoved into.

Hutch moaned, a weary protest of his discomfort. "Ugh... hurtin'." His desperate eyes locking Starsky's gaze on him. "Y-you're gonna help me?" Hutch asked, looking as vulnerable as any bed-bedridden child.

Starsky leaned into him, rubbing a cheek against his blond partner's fevered brow. "Yeah, I'm gonna help ya, buddy," he choked back a wave of sobbing. Playing it strong for his suffering partner.

"Sta..." Hutch, obviously receiving the gift of Starsky's strength, sighed, his breath grazing Starsky's neck.

"It's alright," Starsky made another promise to his friend, one he was certain of because for the first time in a long while, he knew in his heart- Hutch would be okay. He added to it, "We made it, partner…_we made it._"

He leaned back, feeling the chugging and bumping of the ride to freedom on his back, taking on more and more of the weight of the lanky body of his partner, seeking comfort in his arms.

~**sHs~**

Hutch swallowed hard, like he had a nasty taste on his tongue, speaking with difficulty, "Had, umm…dream," he murmured.

"It's alright, you're in the hospital now, buddy."

"Nooo.. had...dream…'bout…Frank…and..."

"Shhh," Starsky told him,

"...and _she...she_ was there….and..."

"C'mon, buddy, just rest, huh?"

".. and you..._you_ were…there..." Hutch shuddered when he finished his revelation.

"Shhh. Sleep."

Hutch quieted.

"A dream, huh?" Starsky looked over his partner with unmeasurable fondness. This tall fair-haired, long-legged, big-hearted man meant the world to him.

Starsky wanted to tell his borderline-conscious friend, yell it to the rafters- that it was no dream. But a living nightmare which could have killed them both.

Hutch muttered some more words as he fought sedation, then drifted back into sleep.

"Wish it _was _all a dream," Starsky reflected on the nagging worry that hadn't left him, even though they had found their way to safety.

He couldn't help but think about what had been the fate of the man who had taken a back full of lead for his partner and the woman mobster, Starsky had spent almost two years despising. Now- he just couldn't hate her the way he wanted to.

Hutch was alive because of her and the Monster. Because of Frank…

Hutch's body stirred under the palm he had kneading healing into him.

_Hutch was alive_...a hollow ache shot through his wounded shoulder. And Starsky was glad for it, he much rather this pain—pain that ripped through his human flesh—rather than the agony and torture his soul would have been in, if Hutch would have died out there in some dusty, back road, two lane highway. That would have been hell and Starsky's body may have survived the assassin's bullet, but his spirit would have gone up with Hutch's … left this world for sure, leaving a hollowed-out man in its haste.

He was confounded about how fate… _divinity_ had played a reversal of fortune act on them. Sonora and Monster had nearly destroyed them, and the end...had saved them?

Had saved him-

Saved a cop's partner and in the meantime David Starsky's sanity in the process.

It was a story Starsky couldn't tell and relate to the listener how it all happened.

Had it all been a bad dream? That would make more sense.

And was it really all over?

Something felt unfinished, undone, in his gut.

The scary part was, that all his years as a cop taught him...life didn't leave things undone forever.

Stories always had real endings, however long it took, nothing left undone stayed hidden forever..._circle of life – _however you wanted to tag it.

He saw from the side of his eyes the door open.

"Hey man," a voice said.

It was Huggy.

"How'sz he doin' today?"

Starsky's nod suggested some improvement

Huggy studied him, and Starsky tried to hide any expression on his face that might show his thoughts and fear.

"Yeah." Huggy said quietly "I know, man. _You think they made it?_"

Starsky shrugged. They both knew Huggy was talking about the tiny woman and the giant. Could they be alive or dead— on the lam? Or in a bizarre twist of fate- in some torture chamber dungeon with a bunch of very angry mob goons.

And what of the Bureau's agent? August? She'd done them wrong, but didn't deserve to lose her life over her betrayal.

Starsky didn't want to call them up – wouldn't speak their names out loud. Guilty-because he hadn't pray for their well-being. Couldn't.

"Don't know," he answered tiredly.

Huggy easily picked up on his desire not to talk of them and he gave Starsky a supportive pat. "_Well_, I'm just glad to have my buddies back." The skinny man's eyes welled up and Starsky smiled appreciatively at the emotion showing in them.

"Hey, we're glad to be back—glad to be anywhere."

They shared a grin and then Huggy dragged a chair over to the bed to join his friend, and the night vigil.

Hutch woke up several hours later, confused and scared-wanted to know where he was and Starsky told him he was safe.

His fair-haired partner looked up at him and then to Huggy and apparently comfortable that it was enough of an explanation—his eyes fluttered shut, and he went back to sleep.

"Guess, you'll have to tell him what happened out there at some point," Huggy said.

Starsky sighed at the stark truth, scrubbing at his tired eyes."Don't mean I have to tell 'im everything. Don't know yet, if I'll tell him all of it."

They stared at each other until the bartender nodded his agreement. "I hear ya. What he don't know..."

_Won't hurt him?_

Every side of this story harbored pain.

"Just gotta see how it goes, you know?"

"Yep. I gotcha back, whatever you need, man."

Some things had to be measured, when he sorted out in his head what was best for Hutch, that's what he would do, both he and Huggy knew that was the way it would go.

The newest visitor to the room, pulled out the daily paper from his jacket pocket, and a huge submarine sandwich wrapped in white deli paper out of a bag.

"Lookie what I got."

"No... _from Mancini's?_" Starsky gushed approvingly.

"I figured you find your appetite once you gotta whiff of one of his Italian specials..."

"Oh, Hug... have I told ya, I love ya, lately?"

"No you haven't and don't think I haven't noticed. It's nice to hear it now and then..." the bartender joked, handing over the sub.

"Maybe I'll save Hutch a corner of it..." The dark-haired man's face lit up at the prospect of feeding his best friend.

"Ah, the nurses'll a killya, bro, are you kiddin'?"

"Hey, I need to work on fattenin' him back up."

"I thought you wuz the one complainin' about his food choices as of late..."

"_This..._is Mancini's!" Starsky clarified the difference between the famed sandwich and greasy-spoon junk food.

The banter went on, a wonderful distraction from all the unknowns, and from all the 'what's ahead' questions Starsky couldn't bear to deal with.

Huggy read the paper, sliding over the sports page to his cop pal.

Starsky ate, and gratefully watched restful peace vanquish the lines of pain from his blond buddy's face.

It was the best day he'd had in a long, long time.

**~o~**

_Epilogue_

_He was bare-foot and bare chested, he only wore thin cotton pants they hung off his bony body. He hugged his aching chest, felt ribs sticking out like those of a starving man. Fumbling, stumbling around in stark whiteness. Alone...so alone. Wasting away...Help! he called out. A tiny form flitted out of nowhere, a woman, her head draped in a black chiffon. She danced, her movement-sensual and flowing. She danced up to him, around, and behind him, her fingers brushing over the surface of his skin. Soon her hands pulled on him, teasing him into her swaying motion – he didn't want to dance, his legs were barely holding him up...she began to claw at him, her nails digging into flesh..._

"You sleep? Hey, open your eyes. C'mon, Blondie!"

He clawed his way out of the dream, toward the familiar voice. Starsky's voice-saving him...again.

Happy to leave the unsettling apparition behind, Hutch pushed himself into wakefulness.

His dark-haired partner, in dark sunglasses, blocked out sun that had warmed him into a dosing.

"You okay, Hutch?" Spoken softly, but laden with concern.

Hutch smiled as he cleared his throat, and sat up in the beach chair under him sinking into the hot sand. "Yeah, okay…just enjoying the sun, partner," he answered, reaching out for the lemon ice that was 'just like one of those back east' Starsky had raved about and had stood in a very long line of other beach goers to prove it to him.

Hutch smiled, a big one, hoping to erase the worry from his best pal's face.

It had been three weeks to the day that Starsky had sat on his hospital bed, and told him what he'd survived. Hutch was silent as he listened, and watched Starsky's eyes well with tears and his face flood with the all the angst he must have felt out there trying to keep him alive. He was also sure his partner was keeping out pieces of the nightmare, and that he might never know all if it. How Starsky had accomplished keeping them both alive wasn't a big surprise. Starsky fought for them with the ferociousness of a mama bear.

Hutch couldn't express his gratitude, and he knew he didn't have to, either. Yet his heart just ballooned and swelled up with so much pride for his friend and with so much appreciation for how much this man loved him. And then, in a wave of indefinable sorrow- he had started to cry and hadn't been able to stop. Starsky had slid up close, holding and rocking him until he slept.

Sonora was probably dead. Her, Frank and August, most likely didn't make it- was Starsky's most honest assessment of what happened to them. Hutch understood there were sacrifices made, and Starsky had told him now wasn't the time to make sense of it all.

"Hutch," he'd said, speaking in that way Starsky did when Hutch was at his end, and needed Starsky to tell him what to do, "...we gotta get you strong, buddy. The docs said so. You been sick for too long. You had the drug Archelaus pumped into ya, and then those cluster headaches for close to a year, not eating or sleepin' right for all that time, and now this last thing. A person's body can only withstand so much before things start going haywire. So, they're worried about you heading into some kind of permanent chronic condition. You gotta build yourself back up, build up your strength. God, if anything else happens...Well, they're worried, and _I'm worried_. That's where we are, and what we got to deal with-what _we_ gotta fix. I know, I know all of this is consuming and I know it could wreck you. But there's been too much wreckin' you, and we gotta stop that. _I'm_ putting a stop to that. We're just gonna work on getting you better, and there ain't nuthin' else on the table. You gotta feel the same way about this, I need you to do that for me, okay?"

And so, that's what he'd try to do, he'd work hard at getting better. Live the wisdom of his partner's instruction. Because he was too weak in his body, and spirit to do otherwise.

And yes, _she _would come in his dreams and _if_ there was any part of his heart that still belonged to her, he need not worry, because Sonora was gone...most likely...

**( ~finis ~)**


End file.
